


The Distress Call (48.7 miles)

by tiniestawoo



Series: Distress Call 'Verse [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Usage, Angst, Blow Jobs, But also, Elves, F/F, F/M, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, I actually love her, I don't hate her, I make a lot of shit up about how medical practices work, Injury, Kidnapping, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mates, Mating Bite, Mating Bond, Melissa is still Scott's mom and that makes her kind of a pain in the ass but in a very mom way, Minor Character Death, Multi, Never Have I Ever, Pack Dynamics, Pack Feels, Past Rape/Non-con, Scott McCall Learned to be a Good Alpha, Sex, Statutory Rape, Stiles Stilinski is Pushed Out of the Pack, Stiles being a badass, Tactile, The whole situation still sucks, Torture, Trouble In Paradise, Warning: Kate Argent, alcohol use, also, also there's gonna be more warnings eventually, and Lydia is a Domme, at least good ones, but like, but like she can't go tell Scott things or someone is gonna be pissed, chapter 4 is a doozy, in the library oooooo, incredibly tactile packs, its worth it, just read it I swear I love all my characters so much, light bloodplay, magical healing, maybe too tactile I haven't quite decided yet, mentions of past sacrifices (Nemeton stuff), pushed out of Scotts pack, sexy stuff, somebody has to be the bad guy, stiles is maybe not as stable as he thinks he is, that needs to be a tag, this is not a D/s fic but there's some elements of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:54:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 95,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22576666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiniestawoo/pseuds/tiniestawoo
Summary: “Beacon Hills Sheriff, Stilinski speaking.”“Hey Mr. Stilinski.” Scott says, the words sounding foreign in his mouth. “Can I uh – ask you a question?”“Scott please, I’ve told you, call me John. But sure, what’s up?” The area around the Sheriff is quiet, he must be at home, or they’re having a slow night at the station.“Do you know…if Derek Hale has a mate?” He asks, still not really sure why he cares. Derek hadn’t been in his pack for the last 7 years. But still – that call had been a cry for help, and if Scott could help, he wanted to.John Stilinski stopped breathing for a minute, Scott could tell. “Why, Scott? Why do you need to know that?” He finally asked.“There was some kind of werewolf distress call. It was from pretty far away. I think it was Derek. I don’t know how I know this, but it’s basically a request for help, because a mate is hurt or dying?”The Sheriff hangs up on Scott.--Or, the one where Stiles and Derek are mated, and the pack moves back to California, only kind of informs the McCall pack, and then Stiles gets kidnapped and almost killed.
Relationships: Cora Hale/Lydia Martin, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Lydia Martin/Jackson Whittemore, Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall/Malia Tate
Series: Distress Call 'Verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1670524
Comments: 243
Kudos: 1284





	1. Sacramento, day 0

**Author's Note:**

> Update (8/27/2020) - Let me make something really clear - this fic is regrettably anti-Scott. I wrote this heavily influenced by fandom and before I realized how much I actually love him as a character? So, Scott fans, this one probably isn't for you. I try to do my best later in the fic to make things better but....its pretty anti-Scott for about the first....half or so? 
> 
> I am proud of having written this fic. It's 96k, a semi-cohesive story, and It's got a lot of cool original elements to it, but it's also got its plot holes and poor writing decisions on my part. Proceed with those thoughts in mind. 
> 
> I'd do things a lot differently now. So much differently I'm not even sure this fic would ever have been written.
> 
> That being said, I hope you can still enjoy it as is!
> 
> -Old A/N
> 
> Teen wolf isn't mine.
> 
> Y'know, its 20-fucking-20 and here I am still writing about this stupid show that I don't think I actually watched past season 3. I quit whenever they killed off my beautiful perfect angel. But here I am, and because I can, she's not dead. 
> 
> Erica and Boyd are dead, I guess, because there's enough characters as it is. I'm inspired by a series of fics I read recently where the pack was incredibly tactile, sometimes even involved in others sexual interactions. I'm not sure exactly what my plan is for this fic, I might never even continue it, but for now, I needed a distraction so here I am, distracting myself. 
> 
> some characters will show up later, and maybe different relationships will form? I'm still feeling it out. I have a deep love for non!evil Peter Hale so that'll probably come up eventually. Basically, I don't know what I'm doing, but here's 4k words of bullshit to get you started.

The gunshot is loud in Derek’s ears. Not loud enough to hurt but loud enough that he flinches away instinctually, and then whips his head behind him to see who fired. He waits for the pain, the burn, the feeling of the bullets that he can smell contain wolfsbane. 

It doesn’t come.

The smell of smoke in the air is powerful, close and Derek’s head turns to look back into the room in front of him and he immediately wishes he hadn’t. 

Stiles’ eyes are wide, golden-honey brown, and Derek isn’t sure he’s ever seen him look so terrified. He’s standing, blood seeping out from his torn white shirt, in the center of what Derek can only describe as a cage. He coughs, and there’s blood in his mouth. Derek makes it to him before he falls, helping him to the ground, trying desperately to wrap something around the bleeding wound through his stomach. He looks back, at the man standing in the hallway smirking at them, twirling the gun. He winks and then turns to leave, walking slowly, like he knows that Derek won’t chase him. When he looks back to Stiles, those golden eyes have fluttered shut, and blood drips from his lips as he tries to draw a ragged breath. 

Derek wants to chase, to hurt, to kill. But he can’t just leave Stiles to die like this, alone, in a cage. A cage he wouldn’t have been in without Derek. He memorizes the scent of that human, lurking beneath the blood and pain and wolfsbane and smoke. He draws pain away, pulls Stiles to his chest, beta-shifts, and then howls louder than he ever has. He knows there are more hunters, he knows that he’s in a mostly-human area. But he needs help, Stiles needs help.

Stiles’ eyes fly open, “Der.” It’s a harsh whisper. “You need to run.” He licks his lips and only succeeds in spreading blood over them. 

Derek refuses to let Stiles see him cry as he shakes his head, kissing his forehead. “Stay with me, Stiles.” He orders, flashing his eyes red.

Stiles smirks. “Alpha orders don’t work on humans, big guy.” His eyes slip closed. His face is a ghastly shade of pale and it makes the moles stand out more, darker. He’s growing colder. 

Sirens aren’t what Derek expected to hear, but as soon as he does, he shifts back, stands up, cradling Stiles in a bridal carry and walks towards the sound. It’s an ambulance and the paramedics jump out, immediately running for the gurney. Derek sets Stiles on the gurney and is forced away by the medics as they work. They’re saying words like “critical” and “immediate” and “surgery” and “blood loss”. Derek just stands there, frozen, watching the ambulance drive away, until a hand lands on his shoulder. 

“Derek.” The voice jars him and he turns to look at his sister, drawing his eyebrows together. “What happened?” 

Derek has never had a panic attack himself. He’s seen Stiles have plenty of them, but never had one himself. “They shot…him. Hunters.” He chokes out, trying to find the words. His hands are shaking, and soon his entire body is. “How? How did you know to call an ambulance? Why didn’t I?” He gasps, staring at his sister. 

Cora grabs both of his hands and clasps them tightly to her chest. “You’re probably in shock. That wasn’t just a howl, Derek. Every wolf within fifty miles heard that. It was a distress call. It was a “my mate is dying” call. You’re just lucky that I knew your mate was human.”

“Fifty miles?” He asks, the shaking stilling at Cora’s touch. Cora nods, “Cora, how far is Beacon Hills?” He asks, his eyes wide. 

Cora pulls out her phone, and types in the question to google maps. She takes a long deep breath and turns the phone around. “48.7 miles.” She shakes her head, “If they show up, we’ll deal with it. For now, let’s get to the hospital.”

“Just a minute, young lady.” A police officer stops them – a lot of police officers actually. Derek was really out of it to have not noticed. “We need to talk to him.” He points at Derek. 

Another officer walks up behind the man, and roughly grabs Derek’s arms and pulls them behind his back into metal cuffs. Derek is in too much shock to fight it. 

Cora grits her teeth. “His m- husband is potentially dying, and you’re worried about talking to him? Can’t you do that, oh, I don’t know, at the hospital?” 

“He’s not going to the hospital until we know he’s not the reason that his husband is dying.” The officer sneers, nodding towards a police car, grabbing Derek’s arm roughly. 

“Derek don’t say a single word.” Cora called out, scrolling through her contacts. “I’m calling Jackson right now. Lydia and Isaac are already on their way to the hospital. Derek, look at me.”

Derek looks past the officer at his sister, who whispers, quieter than the humans can hear, but just loud enough for him to hear, “Stay calm, focus on Stiles. Stiles will need you when this is done, Derek.”

\--

Scott cocked his head and tipped his ear towards the sky when the howl washed across him, a whisper. A cry for help. A dying mate. None of these things are words, but somehow, he just knows. Under the pain it sounds…familiar. Like he knows the wolf who made those sounds. 

Derek? Did Derek even have a mate?

Scott draws his eyes together and turns off the TV, trying quickly to figure out who would know the answer to his question. He scrolls until he finds the contact N.J. Stilinski – Sheriff. He dials it and waits for the voice to pick up.

“Beacon Hills Sheriff, Stilinski speaking.”

“Hey Mr. Stilinski.” Scott says, the words sounding foreign in his mouth. “Can I uh – ask you a question?”

“Scott please, I’ve told you, call me John. But sure, what’s up?” The area around the Sheriff is quiet, he must be at home, or they’re having a slow night at the station. 

“Do you know…if Derek Hale has a mate?” He asks, still not really sure why he cares. Derek hadn’t been in his pack for the last 7 years. But still – that call had been a cry for help, and if Scott could help, he wanted to. 

John Stilinski stopped breathing for a minute, Scott could tell. “Why, Scott? Why do you need to know that?” He finally asked.

“There was some kind of werewolf distress call. It was from pretty far away. I think it was Derek. I don’t know how I know this, but it’s basically a request for help, because a mate is hurt or dying?” 

The Sheriff hangs up on Scott. He stares at his phone for a minute as he put together the pieces. There was a very short list of people that could even stand to be in the same room as Derek Hale 7 years ago. On that list, most of them had also been gone for the last 7 years. Only one of the people on that list meant anything to the Sheriff, as far as Scott knew. 

Stiles? Stiles was Derek’s mate? And Stiles was dying?

Scott heard the door open and looked up at Malia. “Malia, did you hear the distress call?” He asked softly. 

Malia nodded, “Hayden did too. She dropped her coffee mug. We didn't get anything out of it, though, what was it?” The werecoyote sat next to him on the couch, a soft hand on his shoulder. 

“I think….it was Stiles?” He said softly. “Like, not Stiles making the call, but Derek making the call – his mate was dying? Is….Stiles Derek’s mate?” He asked, still not really sure he wasn’t crazy for thinking it. The look on Malia’s face settled it though, and Scott glared. “You knew?”

She held up her hands, “Not until recently. I ran into Isaac about a month ago. They’re living in Sacramento.” 

“They?” Scott asks, somewhere between hurt and angry. “Isaac, Derek, and Stiles?” He asks.

Malia nods, “As well as Cora, Lydia, Jackson and Peter. A few others I don’t know.”

Scott looks away, staring at the wall. “So close. He’s been so close this whole time and he never….” He lets out a long sigh, “And now he might be dead.”

Malia reaches out to pull Scott to her, “He’s not dead yet.” She said, “That call, even I would hear. There’s nothing like it. Every supernatural creature in Northern California is going to hear it if an Alpha’s mate dies.”

Scott turned to look at her, “Derek is an Alpha?” 

Malia shrugged, “That’s what Isaac said.”

Scott looked away, “Well that explains it. No need to come back to me if you’ve got a better Alpha.”

“Scott you’re a good Alpha. You’ve learned so much.” Malia stroked a hand through his hair. 

“But not fast enough.” Scott sits up, and then stands, looking for his coat. “Call Liam and Hayden, maybe Deaton. We’re going to Sacramento. If Stiles dies, I want to….” He chokes on a sob, “I need to be there.”

\--

Jackson, as he does, sweeps into the third precinct of the Sacramento Police Department in a haze of fury. He’s got his tablet in one hand, wearing a black sweater and jeans, which tells Derek immediately that he wasn’t at work when he got Cora’s call. “Is Mr. Hale under arrest?” He asks, pressing a few buttons before dropping the tablet in front of Derek, open to the pack message thread where Lydia and Isaac are rapidly relaying the doctor’s information about Stiles. 

LWM – he made it to the hospital, alive  
LWM – in surgery now  
IL – Doctors said something about limb trauma, broken bones  
LWM – lost a lot of blood, other injuries  
LWM – hold on, Derek. 

Derek looks up when he hears his name. The detective rolls his eyes, “No electronics right now, Mr. Whittemore.” 

Jackson takes the tablet back, flipping the cover over the screen. “Derek, tell the officer why you were in the warehouse district.”  
Derek looks up at Jackson and then nods, “My husband was kidnapped two days ago. We had narrowed down his location to that strip of warehouses. I entered the building, and followed uh, the directions I was given, and then once I found him, in a cage, a man shot him.” Derek swallowed hard, “I grabbed him, tried to stop the bleeding, called my sister, and she called you guys.” 

The detective looked unimpressed, “So, you were found drenched in the blood of a young man with….” He looks at a tablet of his own, “Massive bleeding due to a gunshot wound, a broken left arm, and collar bone, and a broken foot. And you expect us to believe that you didn’t inflict a single one of those injuries?”

“Derek, don’t answer that question.” Jackson snapped, “My client has told you his version of events. Are you going to arrest him, or go look for the man that shot his husband and let him get to the hospital where he should be?” 

The cop narrowed his eyes. “Will your client agree to be swabbed for gunshot residue?” He asked. 

Jackson looked at Derek, who nodded. “Quickly.” Jackson said through gritted teeth.

As they waited for the forensic tech to come in, Jackson opened the tablet back up and they scrolled through the messages. 

CH – broken bones too, fuck what did they do to him  
IL – broken arm, broken collar bone, broken foot  
LWM – he lost a lot of blood, so much blood.  
LWM – im not screaming yet, so there’s that  
LWM – shit, Sheriff’s here.

The forensic technician entered then, and requested Derek hold out his hands, and she swabbed them, each finger, and then his palms and wrists. She nodded, “Detective Frank says you’re good to go now.”

Derek stood up and walked quickly from the room, Jackson behind him. Jackson’s phone was pressed to his ear as they walked to Jackson’s car. “Got it, Thanks Lydia. I love you.” He hung up. “Lydia says that Stiles is still in surgery, and then there’s going to be a lot of other steps before you’d even be able to get close to him. She wants you to go home and shower and eat something before you go to the hospital.”

Derek almost whined, “Jackson, please….” 

Jackson shook his head, “Listen, I learned my lesson years ago. You do not ignore an order from Lydia Whittemore Martin. Ever. Stiles will be safe, Derek. Isaac and Cora are there, along with Lydia and the Sheriff. He’s not going to disappear again. And I bet he’d rather you weren’t covered in his blood when he finally does wake up.”

Derek hates that he’s right.

\--

Scott had Liam do a search while they drive, and they find hint in some police records about a shooting incident and that the victim was transported to Sacramento General Hospital. Scott knows they have the right information when he sees an out-of-county cruiser parked in the parking lot. He parks, and the four of them walk towards the emergency entrance of the hospital. He walks up to the nurses desk. “Hi, I think a friend of mine was brought in here, Uh, Stilinski. Is there any update?”

The nurse types for a moment and looks up at him, “Mr. Stilinski-Hale is –” 

“Not another word.” The voice is unmistakable. “Or I’ll have my husband sue this hospital for HIPPA violations, and have you fired before you even know what hit you.” Lydia Martin was suddenly next to the entry desk, staring at Scott with furious green eyes. 

The nurse blushes and nods, “I’m sorry Ms. Martin. Normal protocol –” 

“This isn’t normal protocol and I’m sure you’ve been informed of that. Now you.” She points at Scott and his party, “Come with me.” 

They turn down the hall from where the entry desk was, and dip inside a small room with dim lighting. It clearly used to be someones office, and Scott doesn’t want to know how they commandeered it as a private waiting room. As soon as Lydia enters the room, she’s flanked by Cora Hale and Isaac, both of whom are growling and flashing eyes at the party. 

“Everyone calm down, for petes sake. If we don’t want the whole hospital to know about the situation.” The quiet, tired voice from the corner of the room is unmistakably the Sheriff, who looks like he’s been crying. 

Surprisingly, the wolves stand down, Cora going to sit with the Sheriff and Isaac crossing his arms and remaining next to Lydia, who finally speaks. “Two questions, and I want an honest answer to both, or I’ll let Derek rip you to shreds when he gets here AND clean up after him.” Scott looked at Malia, and then back to Lydia, nodding. “Number one, why are you here?”

“The distress call….it was Derek, wasn’t it? Why isn’t he here if it’s his mate?” Scott responded, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I’m asking the questions, McCall.” Lydia said sharply, “Number two, HOW are you here. In this hospital?”

It’s not Scott who answers, but Liam, “I looked through some police files. I found an incident that seemed dire enough, and when we saw the Sheriff’s cruiser, we knew we were at the right hospital.” 

“How did you know to look in Sacramento in the first place?” Lydia asked.

“You said two questions.” Scott challenged. 

Isaac cautiously stepped between Lydia and Scott, turning to Lydia, only half way, unwilling to turn his back on an Alpha that wasn’t his. “It’s my fault, Lyds. I told Malia that we had moved here. I’m sorry, I didn’t even think.” 

Lydia patted Isaac’s cheek and nodded, “It’s okay, Isaac.” She turned back to Scott. “Okay well, you’re here, what do you want?”

“Is it Stiles? Is he alive?” Scott asked, “Why isn’t Derek here? Where’s Jackson--”

“One at a time.” Lydia cut him off. “Yes it’s Stiles, yes he’s alive, and the rest of that is pack business and you are not privy to the information.”

“Ms. Martin, perhaps you and I could speak in the hall?” Deaton asked, looking his age in that moment. “Assuming that you’re acting pack Emissary?” 

“Acting?” Scott asked, looking at the older veterinarian,. 

Lydia ignored him and pushed past Scott’s pack to speak with Deaton in the hall, closing the door behind her. “How long have you known?” She spat, whispering as quietly as she could to avoid the wolves hearing.

“Stiles came to see me six months ago, formally announcing your Packs settlement. He asked me not to mention it to Scott.” Deaton said, dark eyes glancing at the door to the room, “I told him a new pack had moved in about fifty miles away and that I’d met with the Emissary and didn’t foresee any issues. He accepted it.” 

Lydia licked her lips, “Thank you for your discretion.” 

“I do think I need to know why a non-wolf is directing things at the moment.”

“Because that’s what Lydia does for our pack.” Derek’s voice caused both Lydia and Dr. Deaton to jump, as Derek and Jackson appeared in the hallway, Jackson moving to wrap around Lydia from behind, burying his face in her neck and holding her tightly. 

Derek stood beside both of them, nostrils flaring gently, arms crossed across his chest. He looked impossibly tired. “Why are you here? Why is he here?” The second question was directed at Lydia, who bared her neck slightly, one hand in Jacksons hair. 

The door opened and Scott stepped out of the room, eyes red and body posed for a challenge. “I could ask you the same thing, Hale.” The two other people with Scott also stepped out – Liam and Malia. “When my Emissary told me there was new pack in town, I sort of expected it to be an actually new pack.” Scott tucked his hands in his pockets, a sign of disrespect, like he was downplaying how dangerous Derek was.

Derek eyed him, unmoved by the gesture, and then shook his head, “McCall, take your pack and leave. We announced ourselves – Stiles idea – and that’s all we’re required to do. I don’t owe you an explanation, and I don’t have time for this right now.”

“I’m not leaving until I see Stiles.” Scott said, firmly. Derek growled and he heard Jackson snort. 

Derek looked around, noticing the hallway was empty, and then reached for Scott’s throat with a suddenly clawed hand. Jackson had moved from behind Lydia to grab Liam, and Derek knocked away the werecoyote with a burst of strength from his other arm. “Are you the reason my mate was in a fucking cage?” Derek snarled, eyes red, “because you wanted to see him so badly that you sent Hunters after him?”

Scott’s eyes went wide, “What, no, I’d never. I didn’t even know you were in California until I heard the distress call.”

Derek dropped Scott, wiping the blood from his claws on the black jeans he wore. “If you want to see Stiles, it will be on HIS terms. Not yours. You have no right to be here, no claim to this land, and no claim to my mate.”

The door opened again and John stepped out, heaving a sigh, “You better listen to him, Scott.” He said. 

Scott stared, bewildered that Stiles’ father was siding with Derek. “John, c’mon I just want to know he’s okay.” 

“Not more than Derek does, kid.” John said, “C’mon I’ll walk you all out.” He grabbed Scott with a firm hand and led the younger alpha from the hospital, trailed by the members of his pack.

As soon as the other pack was gone, Lydia watched in real-time as Derek crumpled, face falling into a mask of pain, curling in on himself. She reached up on tip toes to kiss his cheek and then gently guided him back into the commandeered waiting room. “There’s been no updates, Derek. He’s still in surgery.”

As soon as Derek sat down, Cora took the chair next to him, and Isaac fell to the floor at her feet, resting against Derek’s legs. Jackson took the other chair, one hand casually gripping the back of Derek’s neck in a firm hand. Derek breathed in deeply, and tried to let the pack comfort him, breathing in familiar scents and feeling surrounded by his beta’s, but none of them filled the gaping hole Stiles did in his soul.

John knocked on the door and Lydia opened it for him, “I sent them back to town. Jordan will let me know when they’ve made it home, if I haven’t heard from him in two hours, I’ll call Melissa.” John smiled a half-smile, “He’s still her son, after all.” He dropped into the chair across from Derek, unphased by the pack’s attention. “What happened.” He asked softly, “I know about the kidnapping but….not what put him in here. Massive bleeding?”

Derek took his hand back from Cora to rub them both against his face. “Normally, Hunters don’t take humans. When they do, they usually don’t hurt humans. Stiles is mostly, outwardly, human. So I got to the warehouse, I could tell there were Hunters around but I was so overwhelmed by the scent of Stiles that I just ran towards it. And then….they shot him. Some hunter shot him over my shoulder.” Derek’s eyes were bright with tears, “They don’t harm humans. I don’t know why they shot him and not me. The bullets were wolfsbane. It would have been a point blank shot to my head but it just….” His chest wracked with Silent sobs and the wolves around him curled in tighter.

Lydia had taken the seat next to the Sheriff and took his hand gently, the older man’s hand shaking. “They clearly knew what they were after.” She said softly, “It’ll take some digging to figure out why they wanted to try and kill Stiles, but we’ll figure it out, Derek.”

Footsteps in the hall broke the silence, and Isaac climbed to his feet to open the door for the doctor just before he would have knocked. 

“I’m looking for a Ms. Martin or Mr. Hale?” The doctor said, still wearing surgical scrubs with a mask dangling from his chin.

Derek sighed wearily and stood up, “I’m his husband.” He said softly, and the doctor nodded, waving Derek into the hall. 

“He survived surgery to remove the bullet and repair the damage internally. He’s incredibly weak, so for the moment, he’s sedated and intubated. Presently, his peripheral wounds are being imaged and casted, but as soon as that is done, you’ll be able to see him.” The doctor reached out to clap a hand on Derek’s shoulder, “He’s a fighter. Most people would have died in the ambulance.” 

Derek gave his best impression of a smile, “Thanks, Doctor” He said.

“Don’t thank me yet.” The man said, “There’s more. His heart, for all intents and purposes, should have stopped beating several times, but never did. Do you know if what put him in this hospital involved electricity?” 

Derek shuddered, “I don’t know. He was held captive for the last 48 hours. I don’t know what they did to him aside from the bullet.”

The doctor looked at him critically, “I don’t want to give you false hope, but with the blood loss, even with the beating heart, I can’t promise that it wasn’t an electrical fluke. It’s possible he went some time without blood to his brain. There is still a chance he won’t wake up.”

Derek’s heart sank. “What kind of chance are we talking?”

“Without knowing exactly what he went through, I’d say 10% chance he doesn’t wake up, 30% chance of brain injury.” The doctor squeezed Derek’s shoulder, “He’ll be sedated through the end of tomorrow, once we’re sure he’s not internally bleeding anywhere else. He had three separate transfusions already. After that, it’ll be up to him to wake up.”

The doctor stepped away, promising to send a nurse when Stiles was settled. 

Derek returned to the small room and stared at his pack, unsure what to say. He was sure one of the werewolves had relayed the conversation to the Sheriff and Lydia. “I –” 

“There’s a 70% chance he’s going to be just fine.” John said, resolutely, standing up to pull Derek against his chest, “Derek, Stiles has survived a lot worse than a 70% chance before.”


	2. Beacon Hills, Day -2438

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> almost Seven years ago, Stiles Stilinski left Beacon Hills behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm trying to flesh out for myself how exactly the pack got to where they are in the Sacramento. So instead of writing this shit and keeping it to myself, I'm sharing you, complete with my inability to pick a narrator and stick with it to save my life!!
> 
> This will hopefully make clear where the deviations from canon begin, and explain some of the strife that's occurring, as well as how the fuck Stiles ends up with a lot of friends in a lot of places, and is really knowledgeable and powerful. Because like, who other than Stiles Stilinski to go on a solo supernatural road trip, right?
> 
> Hope you like it. I'll probably not update tomorrow, unless I feel very motivated, but I really should go ahead and get actual work done.

“You know you could just…stay.” John says, taking a drink of the smoothie Stiles had made as “breakfast” on his last day in Beacon Hills. 

Stiles looks up at his father, and John can see the exhaustion in his eyes, “No I can’t.” He says, “I graduated high school, I’ve got college lined up in the fall, I need to not be…here.” Stiles breaks the eye contact with his father and looks through the window. “After everything that we went through together, everything Theo caused, Scott forgave him. And I can’t. I can’t forgive him, or Scott.”

John nodded. This wasn’t the first time he’d tried to convince his only son to stay put, and he knew it was a lost cause. “You’ll call, and keep me updated about where you are? You’re 18 now, so I can’t stop you, but I will put out a nationwide search if you go too long without updating me.”

Stiles snorted and looked back at his dad with a shadow of what had once been his big, blinding smile. “I’ll be in touch as much as I can, and if I can’t, I’ll let you know I won’t be able to, or send word with someone else.”

“And you’ll be at George Washington in August, right?” 

Stiles rolled his eyes, “Yes, Dad, I’ll be at school in the fall, don’t worry. I can’t become a hotshot FBI agent without college.”

John finished the last of the smoothie and stood up, pulling Stiles out of the chair to hug him tightly, “You stay safe.” He said, trying not to cry into his sons hair, “You promise me you’ll stay safe.”

Stiles hugged his dad back just as fiercely, “Same to you, old man. I know Parrish has your back but if anything fishy comes up, you know the drill. You call me.”

John wiped his eyes and pulled back, “One last thing, Chris Argent sent me something for you.” He stepped out of the dining room to retrieve the box. It was wooden and heavy, and half of the things on the list of contents seemed made up, but one of the things he wished he’d thought of himself.

He handed it to Stiles, who opened it and set it on the table, hands gently plucking the content list and scanning down it, stopping at the bottom and looking up at his dad with a smirk, “You’re willingly handing me a box that you know contains a firearm? Under the legal age to concealed carry? Who are you and what did you do with my dad?”

John just smiled and shook his head, “If it means you come back alive, I don’t care what it takes. You are always more important than any law to me, Stiles.”  
Stiles smiled, closed up the box and took it out to his car, a newer, more fuel-efficient thing that he’d managed to buy with some savings and what he got for selling the jeep. It had hurt him physically to part with the Jeep, felt like selling a part of his soul, but it wouldn’t make it out of the state, let alone all the way to Washington, DC. 

He set the box in the passenger seat, and then turned back to his dad, nodding at him. “I’ll call you when I get somewhere. I’m not sure where. It might be a couple of days, so please hold off your manhunt until then.”

John smirked at his son from the porch, and then his face paled as he watched a car roll down the street to stop at the curb. He watched Stiles turn around. “Dad go back in the house.” His son called, and, knowing that Stiles needed to have this confrontation, he respected his sons wishes. 

\--

“You were just going to leave?” Scott McCall, flanked by Liam and Corey stared at Stiles, standing about ten feet back from him, just off the Stilinski property line. 

Stiles took a long, deep breath. “Yes.” He said, shrugging and tucking his hands in his pockets. Scott wasn’t going to change his mind, but he also wasn’t going to hurt him in broad daylight outside of his father’s house. He couldn’t hurt him emotionally anymore than he already had.

“What the fuck, Stiles.”

“What do you want me to say, Scott? I’m not staying. I won’t pretend like I’m okay with all the bullshit that Theo put everyone through. It’s clear you don’t need a second,” Stiles motioned at Liam, “Deaton is your Emissary. You don’t need me, Scott. I’m just some murderer, right? Just like Theo said?”

Scott looked pissed, “You’re my best friend, Stiles. Of course I need you. But you killed Donovan and you can’t deny that.”

“To save myself!” Stiles shook his head, “No, you know what, stop. Shut up and leave. You’re not my friend anymore, I hardly recognize you. You’re sure as fuck not my alpha, so just leave. Get out of here and let me go. You have your pack; you have all of our friends. I have no one but my dad in Beacon Hills anymore, so I’m leaving.”

Stiles doesn’t wait to see if Scott is going to listen, and climbs into the driver’s seat of his car, locking the doors and waiting, steadying his breathing and shaking hands. When Scott’s car disappears from his rearview, he puts the car in reverse, honks a goodbye to his dad, and leaves Beacon Hills in his dust. 

\--  
Six weeks later, after tracking supernatural creatures and mages and socerers around the country, learning magic and lore and everything he’d never have found in Beacon Hills, Stiles finds himself in Boston, and part of him can’t believe he’s actually there. He’d made it from his tiny town in central California, just outside of Sacramento, all the way to a big, east coast city. 

He hesitates for just a moment before he presses send on his phone call, glancing at the clock to make sure it wasn’t too late at night. He’s exhilarated, but also exhausted and hoping that maybe he won’t have to sleep in his car tonight. 

“Didn’t expect to hear from you anytime soon.” Is how Lydia answers the phone. “This better be good.”

“I’m in Boston.” Stiles says, knee bouncing. “Can I stay with you?”

“You’re in what? Why? How are you in Boston?” Lydia nearly screeches into the phone and Stiles’ ear actually kind of hurts. “Sorry.” Her voice drops several decibels. 

“If you tell me where to come find you, I’ll bring you a tub of ice cream, a bottle of wine if my fake works, and tell you how I ended up in Boston.”

Lydia considers for a moment. “Fine. I’ll text you my address. Better be a good wine, Stilinski.” There’s fondness in her voice even as she hangs up on him.

Three liquor stores fail him before he finds a wine worthy of the fabulous Lydia Martin, and he dashes into a grocery store just before it closes to grab a tub of ice cream before making his way to the address that Lydia had texted him. He parks in a visitor spot, grabs his book bag and overnight duffel, his bribery items, and his phone before locking up his car. He scratches a line of runes into the dust on his window. It’s not much, and it’s far from permanent, but it’s one of the lower-energy safeguards he’s learned on his travels. Even locked doors can be broken.

He only knocks once on the door to Lydia’s apartment before she opens it, dressed in a satin tank top, a pair of cotton shorts and a silk robe. She doesn’t say anything as she reaches for the bag containing the wine and ice cream. She glances at the label, nods her approval, and moves to the kitchen, “Go take a shower, Stiles. When’s the last time you had one of those? You stink.”

Stiles tries to remember the last one, but decides maybe it’s better if she doesn’t know, and finds his way to the bathroom.

Thirty minutes later, he emerges in clean sweats and a T-shirt, hair still damp, and sits on the couch next to where Lydia has poured two glasses of wine. “Hi.” He says softly. 

She turns to him, inquisitive green eyes pouring over him. “You promised me a story.” She said, picking up the wine and turning her body towards him.  
So, Stiles tells her. He tells her about the first pack he ran into outside of Reno, and how he’d had to name drop the Hales to keep himself from getting killed. Their emissary was a sorceress who was older than Deaton, who knew Talia Hale, had taught him about protection runes and healing magic. From there he’d come across a coven of witches in Salt Lake City, and stayed with them for about a week learning about different potions and poultices. 

He’d headed to Denver from there and spent his time with some pothead vampires. Lydia didn’t believe him until Stiles pointed out that they’d been pot heads since the sixties, when it was still new and cool. He’d stayed with them for a few days, and then headed on to Kansas City where he’d run into another pack, this one was more laid back than the pack in Reno, and they let him stay for a few days, but sent him on his way the night before the full moon despite his protests. 

He’d detoured south from St. Louis where he met a community of fiercely private elves – like Legolas, he’d explained, not like Santa’s helpers – to swing through Nashville before heading north through Louisville, Cincinnati, Columbus and onto Pittsburgh, where he met a group of honest-to-god trolls. They weren’t as big and ugly as the legends described, but they were fiercely protective of their bridges. He’d navigated through their riddles enough to be allowed through and promised to stop by sometime soon so they could try and stump him. 

Passing through Buffalo put him too close to Niagra Falls to not investigate rumours of the mermaids there. They taught him an honest to goodness bubble-head charm a la Harry Potter and he spent a few days there before heading on to Albany where he’d been invited to visit a supernatural library by a sorcerer, he’d come recommended by the Reno pack’s Emissary. He’d spent almost a week there and had left that afternoon to come to Boston.

He and Lydia had long finished the bottle of wine and most of the ice cream by the end of Stiles’ story. She sat back, clearly impressed, “I’m surprised you ended up here, and not in New York City.” She said, taking a drink from a glass of water.

Stiles made a face, “Why would I go to New York, you’re here.”

Lydia looked at him knowingly, “The Hales are in New York City.” 

Stiles almost fell off the couch, blaming the alcohol. “I’m sorry, how do you know that?” He righted himself and leaned back against the arm rest, stretching one long leg out to poke Lydia’s thigh with his toe. She smacked the foot away and he laughed. 

“Cora told me. She came up once, we had dinner. She’s finishing high school at some kind of private academy in the city. Derek is finishing the classes he didn’t get to finish for his degree at NYU. He’s almost done, he’ll be graduating in December with a bachelor’s in finance and business management. Peter is...doing something.” Lydia shrugged. 

Stiles pondered all of this information and then looked away from Lydia. “I left Beacon Hills to get away from pack bullshit.” He muttered. 

“Not Hale Pack Bullshit.” Lydia countered, “You’ve always been…interested in Hale Pack Bullshit.” 

Stiles looked back at her, tired, but thankful to be here, with her, someone who understood what he’d gone through, what it meant to leave Beacon Hills. “I guess I could call. I have to go south anyway.” 

“You should do that, I think Cora and Derek would like that.” Lydia reached forward to pat his cheek. “Now come to bed.” She took his hand and started towards her bedroom.

“Uh…Lydia?” Stiles asked, “I can just sleep on the couch.”

She shook her head, “Are you going to touch me inappropriately while I sleep?”

Stiles looked her over, “Not uh, consciously?” 

“Then come to bed, my bed is more comfortable than the couch and I’d guess it’s been a while since you actually slept well.”

Stiles refused to say if she was right. But also, didn’t mind when she snuggled in against his chest as she drifted off, and if he fell asleep surrounded by her mane of beautiful red hair, with his arms wrapped tightly around her slight frame, well, that was their business.

\--  
Stiles stayed with Lydia through the fourth of July, the pair exploring the city, going through the journals that Stiles had kept on his travels, sharing the information that he’d learned. They met with a very old vampire that ran an antique bookstore in Boston. He knew of an older banshee that lived a few towns over and offered to introduce Lydia if either of them would allow him to feed. Stiles agreed as long as the vampire promised not to take more than was necessary. Lydia had held his hand, but he swore when it was over that he barely felt the fangs.

Lydia had to go into school a few days a week, but most of their time was spent together, learning things they were actually interested in instead of researching for their lives. They slept together every night, never once making a move beyond the closeness and comfort that it gave both of them to not be alone. Maybe the closeness was the result of too much time in werewolf packs, but for two weeks, Stiles didn’t have any nightmares, and almost forgot about the pain he was running away from.

On July 5th, he got up, packed up his car, kissed Lydia’s forehead, turned on the coffee maker, and left, heading south to New York City, making it into town just as lunch rushes cleared and the afternoon sun sat high in the sky over the city. He hesitated a lot longer to make this call, mostly flipping between two contacts as he debated which Hale to call. He ended up hitting send on Derek’s number, and waited for the voice he knew so well to pick up. 

“Stiles? Is everything okay?” Was certainly not the greeting he was expecting. 

“Hi, yeah, sorry, everything’s fine. I’m fine.” He choked out the words. “I’m in New York.”

Derek stayed silent for almost a full minute, and Stiles had to actually check that he call hadn’t ended. “Why?”

“I just left Boston, with Lydia. I have to make to DC in a few weeks but she suggested I stop by.”

“Your Alpha probably wouldn’t like that.” Derek said cryptically.

“I don’t have an Alpha.” Stiles said sharply. “Besides – last time I checked, I was an actual adult human and I don’t have to check in with anyone to be anywhere. Should you check with your Alpha if it’s even okay that I show up?”

Derek did the silent thing again, “I’ll text you the address to the townhouse.”

Stiles navigated the truly horrible New York traffic to find his way to a Manhattan town house with some kind of underground parking garage attached. Derek had texted him the code for the garage so he punched it in and pulled in, parking between some kind of ostentatious sports car and Derek’s familiar Camaro.

Derek was waiting for him in the parking garage, leaning against the Camaro while Stiles grabbed the few things he planned to take inside with him. He looked again at the dusty car windows but decided against bothering with the runes. He looked up to meet Derek’s eyes. “Hi.” He said. 

Derek raised one eyebrow, “That’s not your jeep.” He said.

Stiles looked back at his car, “Oh, yeah, no. That thing would not have made it as far as I’ve traveled. Plus, this baby gets way better gas mileage. Her name is Natasha. Y’know, after Black Widow. Actually, you probably don’t know because you’re pop-culture dumb.” He bit his tongue to force himself to stop rambling. “Sorry, I ran out of meds somewhere around St. Louis. Elves are really cool – did you know they were real?”

“You met elves, in St. Louis?” Derek asked, reaching for Stiles’ duffel and heading towards the stairs that led them into a beautiful kitchen. Stiles followed Derek through a beautifully decorated sitting room, up a flight of stairs and into a modestly decorated bedroom, where Derek dumped Stiles duffel onto the bed. “Why aren’t you in Beacon Hills?” Derek asked.

Stiles sucked in a breath and sat on the edge of the bed, “Could we, y’know, go back to the elves in St. Louis because really, that’s way more fun.” 

Derek shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. “Last I heard, the McCall pack was flourishing. I left, you guys took down the Dread doctors and everything was just peachy.”

“Did whoever gave you that little update mention that Scott forgave Theo Raeken?” Stiles said darkly, pointedly looking anywhere but at Derek. “Or that I apparently wanted to kill Donovan and wasn’t just defending myself? And that Liam is Scott’s second now?” Stiles ignored the hurt that ached in his chest. “Allison fucking survived, but moved away, and somehow that’s also my fault despite the fact that I was, y’know, possessed by an evil Japanese spirit.” He laughed hollowly, “So I left Beacon Hills the week after graduation because I was sick of the McCall pack’s bullshit. And I’ve met so many amazing creatures and learned so much. But no, I get here, and you want to ask me about Beacon fucking Hills.”

“From what I’ve heard, the elves in St. Louis are fiercely private and rarely even show themselves.” Derek and Stiles both jumped at the sound of Peter Hale’s voice. “So if you met them, I’d personally love to hear about them.” 

Stiles leaned forward to look around Derek to where Peter was leaning against the door frame. “Still not dead, huh?” 

Peter made a petulant face. “I know you worked very hard to kill me the first time, but we worked very hard to bring me back. I’d hate to waste a second chance.” He smirked. 

Stiles looked back at Derek, “Are you done, are you happy with my explanation? Do I need to talk to your alpha and announce my presence in the territory?”

Peter snorted, but Derek spoke softly, “Happy isn’t exactly the word I’d use, Stiles, but I’ll drop it.” He held out a hand to pull Stiles to his feet off the bed. “New York is neutral territory, and as for the pack.” He met Stiles’ eyes and his bled into crimson as he flashed a fanged grin, “I’m the alpha…again.” 

“Okay, I have to know how that happened, and also, do you guys have food in that kitchen or is it just for show?”

Just as Stiles, Derek and Peter made it to the bottom of the stairs, the door to the car park banged and Cora yelled, “DEREK, PETER, some jackass parked in the garage again, do you want me to call the –” She turned the corner and came face to face with the three men, blinking at Stiles’ presence. “Oh.” She said softly, “Is that uh, your car?” 

“That would be Natasha, yes.” Stiles smirked, and cautiously reached out for a hug that Cora readily returned. “You look good.” He said softly. 

Cora squeezed him almost-too-tight and then released him, “Lydia mentioned that you were in the area. I wasn’t sure if you’d actually stop in. She said I have to ask you about all the places you’ve been.” 

Stiles’ stomach chose that moment to growl loudly, and the four of them headed into the kitchen for Stiles to tell the story of his trip from Beacon Hills to New York city. Once he’d finished with his story, and they’d finished with their late lunch, he pointed at Derek and insisted that they explain how he became an Alpha and how they all ended up in New York. 

Derek and Cora had taken a trip somewhat similar to Stiles’ only they traveled with Braeden for a while before splitting off. Derek and Braeden’s romance had fizzled out. Cora needed to finish high school, and Derek knew enough about New York to get them started. One night, out clubbing – which was something Stiles absolutely could not picture – Derek had gotten into a fight with a very drunk alpha werewolf who was harassing a group of tourists. He’d reigned it in so they didn’t reveal the existence of werewolves to a club full of humans, but two weeks later, the alpha had shown up at the apartment that Cora and Derek lived at, and formally challenged him.

According to Cora, the alpha was a dumbass and much more brawn than brains, and after going up against the Alpha pack, Derek won the fight with minimal trouble, and became an alpha again. Cora had pledged to him immediately, and Peter had shown up a few weeks later. They’d moved into the condo that the family apparently owned, and the rest, they said, was history. Derek swore that this time, he was going to be a good alpha, like his mother was, and he’d been reaching out to the alphas of other packs for guidance wherever possible.

By the time all the storytelling was over, Stiles was exhausted, and excused himself to the guest room. He unpacked his toiletries, plugged in his phone charger, and minutes after laying down on the bed, was asleep.

He woke from his nightmare screaming, kicking himself for not setting the dream wards since he was sleeping alone again, and Derek and Cora were both sitting on opposite sides of the bed, each holding one of his hands. He breathed heavily, closing his eyes for a moment before snapping his eyes back open when the only thing behind his eyelids was Donovan’s contorted chimera face. “Sorry.” He mumbled.

“Does this happen often?” Derek asked softly, thumb stroking over the back of Stiles’ hand. Cora didn’t say anything, just looked at Stiles with a concerned expression. 

“Almost any time I sleep alone. Some witches taught me a brew I can make to prevent them, and I know some warding spells to keep them away, I just spent the last few weeks with Lydia, just, like, cuddling – my 16 year old self would be crying—and so I forgot to do anything before I fell asleep.” Stiles was staring straight ahead at the wall. 

“I’ll stay with him.” Cora said softly. She looked up at her brother and then back at Stiles, “Or…not.” She let go of Stiles’ hand and slipped out of the room. 

Stiles watched her walk away and then looked back to Derek, “You barely even like me, you should have just let Cora stay.” 

Derek’s hazel green eyes met Stiles with a kind of openness that Stiles hadn’t even realized Derek could possess, “I’m sorry you think that.” Derek said softly, still stroking the back of Stiles’ hand, “I wasn’t the nicest person in Beacon Hills.”

Stiles snorted, “You were far from the worst.” 

“And I owe you a lot, Stiles. My life, several times over.” Derek kicked off his shoes and stretched out on the bed. “If you don’t object, if having someone nearby helps you sleep, I’m happy to do so.” 

Stiles stared at the werewolf stretched out in the guest bed, and tried to let the words sink in. For once, he didn’t know what to say in response to that, so he just let himself lay back down, and stare at the faint pattern of Derek’s T-shirt until he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore, and he fell back asleep.

\--

Stiles stayed with the Hales until he had to leave for DC. He wasn’t sure what exactly he and Derek were, but they’d spent almost every night together, just like he and Lydia had, but it felt distinctly different. Derek curled around Stiles some nights in a way that made Stiles feel safer than any ward he’d ever etched. Stiles didn’t question it.

During the day he studied in the library, or explored the city, sometimes alone and sometimes with one of the Hale siblings. In the evenings they usually cooked together – Stiles cooking, Cora chopping and Derek assisting where he could. Peter directed it all and offered pointers. It felt like family, like home and by the time it was the last week of July, Stiles would have been lying if he said he actually wanted to leave. 

The morning of his departure, Derek had helped carry his now considerably larger suitcase down to the car and fit it among the rest of his things. Cora and Peter had said their goodbyes at breakfast before departing for their own activities. Derek hesitated as Stiles stood against the drivers door of his car, and Stiles felt his eyes burning through him.

It’s not really clear which of them moved first, but in an instant they went from feet apart to pressed against each other, lips meeting with an inquisitive need. The kiss was warm and wet and full of years of unresolved sexual tension and the tenderness of weeks of Derek cradling Stiles against him like he hung the moon. When they pulled away, Stiles was panting and Derek just looked smug.  
“Y’know, you could have done that like, anytime.” Stiles said, smiling despite himself. 

“So could you.” Derek countered, still holding Stiles closely. His face grew somber, “I know you have to leave, George Washington is an amazing school, and I don’t want to hold you back.” Derek nuzzled his face into Stiles’ neck and Stiles knew exactly what he was doing – scenting him one last time as if he probably didn’t already reek of Hale. 

“I’m going.” Stiles said, “I promised my dad I’d be in DC by August. I have to keep that promise.” He ran a hand through Derek’s thick black hair. “It’s only four hours, you can visit.”

Derek nodded, pressing a soft kiss to Stiles’ pulse point on his neck. “Stiles, before you go I wanted to ask you one last thing.” He stepped back and let his eyes flare red, “Mieczysław Stilinski, mage, will you be the Emissary for my pack, give us guidance, and record our histories?”

Stiles smirked, “Is that why you asked how to say that name like, three times?” He met Derek’s crimson eyes, and then dropped to his knees, baring his neck, “I accept, Alpha Hale.” He said, seriously. 

Derek reached down to touch Stiles’ bared neck, and then tugged him forward into another tight hug. “Now I’ll know. I don’t know if you can feel it, but now, if you need me, I’ll know.” 

Stiles smiled into the skin of Derek’s neck. “Thank you.” He whispered.


	3. Sacramento, Day 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles still hasn't woken up, and the pack is no closer to figuring out who did this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made some edits to the first chapter. I watched the last 2 episodes of the series (Wolves of War) and I decided that I’d rather include Malia in the story than Kira, as mostly, I think it’ll be easier than going back to learn how a Kitsune fights or writing out swordplay. It’s a cop-out but oh well, sue me. I also like the angle of Malia being a Hale-descendant which is how the McCall pack wasn’t forced out of Beacon Hills. I also changed the like, singular line in chapter 2 where Malia’s name came up. 
> 
> Also, there’s some language here that could be considered queer/homophobic, but it’s largely meant in jest. People who are bisexual are not sometimes gay and sometimes straight, they’re always bisexual and I know that. The jokes that are made are something my friends and I would make, and we’re all queer. Approximately 75% of the characters in this story are AT LEAST a little gay. 
> 
> That’s the only major change. The rest of the story is mapped out from here, and it’s probably going to be around 17 chapters including the epilogue. This is the last chapter I'm going to post until I get a few more written - hopefully this weekend. It's been uh....a long time since I've written something porny, so I want to write a few different scenes before I post any of them, just to make sure I actually give y'all some variety.
> 
> Rating goes up to explicit next chapter!!
> 
> Also as I'm now writing the next chapter - It may either be more than 17 chapters, or some of the chapters will be much longer than others. Apparently writing threesomes takes a lot of words, who knew.

Derek rubbed the gauze over Stiles’ left wrist absently, staring at his mates pale face, begging him silently to open his eyes. It had been three full days since Stiles had been found and brought to the hospital. His sedatives had stopped over 48 hours ago, and there was no change. He was hooked up to multiple monitors, and his left arm was casted from just above his wrist up onto his shoulder, trying to keep his upper body as supported as possible. His foot was also casted under the covers. His face was bruised, lip split and swollen, and there was a small bandage over his left wrist. His wedding ring was missing. Jackson had called the Detective in charge of Stiles’ case but said that forensics hadn’t recovered a ring.

Derek – admittedly far from an expert on human medicine – had asked why his arm was cast strangely, stopping before the wrist. The nurses explained that they wanted to let the strange scratches on his left wrist to heal before they brought the cast down to his hand. When Derek had looked at the scratches later that night, he felt his heart sink, and it took everything in him to hold back his wolf’s pained howl. 

He knew the runes that Stiles had scratched into his wrist well. The dreamless sleep runes were all that stood between Stiles and years of horrible memories resurfacing when he closed his eyes. The runes were inscribed on the inside of Stiles’ wedding ring, so he’d always have them close, be able to activate them whenever he needed to, but someone had taken that from him. The thought of Stiles using whatever sharp object he could find to manually scratch the runes in broke Derek’s heart. 

Faris, a mage who had joined Derek’s pack to assist Stiles had confirmed the runes when Derek sent him a picture. When Derek ran his thumb over them, they still thrummed with power. The mate bond was still intact too, the line that connected Derek directly to Stiles, forged in love, blood, and sex. He could feel that Stiles was there, in the body that showed no signs of life beyond the rise and fall of his chest and the constant beep on the heart monitor. 

Derek turned his head at the sound of a familiar heartbeat, and looked up to see Peter, followed by Faris and Lupe enter the room. “Update?” He asked softly. 

Faris walked to the other side of Stiles’ bed, his dark eyes concerned as he pressed a hand gently to Stiles’ forehead. He didn’t say anything but closed his eyes and the scent of magic in the room intensified. Derek turned his eyes to meet Peters blue ones. Peter sat in a chair, crossed one leg over the other, and then began, “The police finished the warehouse last night, so Lupe and I went in once they cleared out. They took the cage, probably processing it for evidence, though I doubt they’ll find anything. There were too many scents for us to notice anything specific, but whoever did this knew what they were doing.”

Lupe, the tall, thin elf who had joined the pack at the same time as Faris stood at the door and continued where Peter left off. “Whoever did this also has at least one magic-user working with them. Probably a mage or sorcerer, but a strong druid or witch could possibly manage it. That’s the only way they could have contained Stiles. That or….” Lupe trailed off, looking at Faris for a moment and then back to Derek with silver-blue eyes, “A threat to you or the pack, Alpha.” 

“Stiles wouldn’t have caved if they were threatening us. He knows better. He knows we can protect ourselves.” Derek set Stiles’ hand gently back onto the bed and looked at Faris, “What are you doing?” 

“I’m probing.” Faris said simply, shrugging, “He’s not poisoned, hasn’t been injected with anything other than things of medical purpose. The broken bones were broken cleanly, he’s got a bruised rib no one noticed, but his brain doesn’t seem damaged, and the scratches on his wrist aren’t healing.” The mage opened his eyes and removed his hand from Stiles’ forehead, “I’m sorry Alpha, there’s nothing that I can detect that is wrong. Whoever did this to Stiles is powerful, or it’s really a medical condition.”

Derek let out a long, shaky breath. “There aren’t very many magic users who are more powerful than Stiles, are there?” He said softly, looking at Faris. 

Faris shook his head slowly. “No.” He whispered. 

Derek turned back to Peter, “Why would Hunters shoot Stiles? He’s a human above all else.”

Peter steepled his fingers together, resting them against his chin. “Is he, Derek?” He asked cryptically. “When you look at Stiles, what is the first word to pop into your head?”

“Mate.” Derek answered immediately.

“Whoever did this, knows that.” Peter said. “Whoever did this wanted Stiles dead, probably to get to you. They’ve failed so far, and we’ll operate under the assumption that the news of their failure hasn’t quite reached them yet but will soon. If the McCall pack figured out that Stiles was alive, surely whoever was hunting him is going to know soon.”

Derek took Stiles’ hand again reflexively, needing to touch his mate, reassure himself that Stiles wasn’t an illusion, “Reach out to Argent. See if he’s heard anything through his channels. Keep me updated as you learn things.” His eyes flared red at the end, his control slipping as the anguish of Stiles’ condition being permanent washed over him.

Peter’s eyes flared blue, Lupe’s silver, and Faris bared his neck in response to the eye flash and order, and the three men departed the hospital room. 

Derek turned back to Stiles, reaching up to brush a hand through his hair, resting his face against his mates neck. “You can’t stay like this, Stiles. Whatever it is, you have to fight it. Whoever did this is going to pay. This isn’t permanent.” His breath hitched and sobs wrecked his chest, “I need you.”

\--

Lydia sat back against the headboard, naked, with Cora’s head resting in her lap. Jackson laid on his side, facing the two women, his eyes fluttered closed but not sleeping. Lydia’s nails scraped absentmindedly against Cora’s scalp. Sex was a good distraction, while it lasted, but as they laid here, the absolute agony that Derek was experiencing was almost palpable, bleeding into each of them from the bond they shared. “They have to have a mage, or an elf, someone who would be able to shut Stiles’ down. There’s no way they just kept him in a metal cage for two days.” Lydia said, to no one in particular.

“There are like, a hundred total elves in the country, and one of them is Lupe.” Cora responded, “So we can pretty much rule out elvish interference.” 

“Have the police got anything on who might have done this?” This time the question was directed to Jackson, whose eyes flashed open.

“Nothing that they’re sharing.” Jackson rolled off the bed and reached for his sweatpants. “I’ve been calling every five hours and so far, all I know is that there were no fingerprints on the cage. Not even Stiles’, whose would have been in the database.”

“Are the FBI okay with Stiles just being…gone?” Cora asked, pushing away from Lydia, pressing a kiss to her shoulder on her way up. “We did tell them, right?” Jackson tossed her a tank top and a pair of shorts.

“John called Stiles’ partner, who took care of the rest of it. They know he was kidnapped and in a coma.” Lydia pulled a T-shirt over her head, “Once he’s awake, they’ll decide if they need to take the case over. Seeing as none of it is related to Stiles’ job, likely they’ll let Sacramento PD deal with it.”

Jackson sat on the edge of the bed, “Do we know for sure that this wasn’t related to Stiles’ job? He was shot, not like, magically murdered.”

Lydia looked at her husband with something between amusement and affection, “How many common human criminals have you defended that used wolfsbane bullets, dear?”

Jackson nodded, “Right. Fair.” He leaned over the bed to kiss her, smiling. “Stiles would be proud of you.” He said softly, “You’re keeping all of our heads on straight.”

“I don’t know if anything Stiles does is straight.” Cora said, joking.

Lydia smirked at her, “I know that Derek’s rule is that no blood relatives share beds, and so you’ve never had the joy of Stiles in yours because he and Derek are a package deal, but I can assure you that when he wants to be, Stiles is plenty happy to be straight.” 

Cora made a face, “I don’t ever want to think about my brother-in-law like that.”

Jackson just rolled his eyes. “I meant that you’re analyzing the situation, keeping us focused, and keeping the pack together.”

Lydia looked up at Jackson with tears bubbling in her green eyes, “He needs to wake up.” She said, letting herself lean against Jackson’s chest as Cora moved to stroke her back, “I know that you love me, and you know that I love you, but Stiles is….” A small sob escaped her throat. 

“Stiles is important.” Jackson finished, nosing against the banshee’s throat. “I knew when I joined the pack that you and Stiles shared something that I could never compete with. He was there for you, and I left.” Jackson kissed Lydia’s cheek softly. “He’s going to wake up.” He said, blue eyes staring into green. “He has to, for all of our sake.”

\--

The skype dial tone ended abruptly as Chris and Allison’s faces appeared on the screen of the computer in Peter’s office. 

“How is Stiles?” Allison asked before her father could start. “Isaac called me. Everyone is so upset.”

“Stiles is alive. They did a number on him, and the bullet wound didn’t help. He’s still in a coma. Faris thinks it may be some kind of trance or spell, but it’s nothing he can detect. Lupe left this afternoon for St. Louis to talk to his mother about the situation.” 

“What do you know so far?” Chris asked

“We know frighteningly little, and Stiles can’t tell us himself what happened. Derek walked into a warehouse, followed Stiles’ scent, found him in a metal cage, and a human – he swears it was a human – shot Stiles over his shoulder with a wolfsbane bullet.” 

Chris’ eyebrows furrowed, “Someone, presumably a Hunter, shot past an alpha werewolf to kill a human?” 

Peter nodded, “It’s peculiar. The best that we can come up with is that Stiles really was the target of the attack. It’s possible that shooting him in the case of imminent rescue was someone’s contingency plan. They know werewolves well enough to know that Derek wouldn’t be able to chase someone down with his mate bleeding to death. They probably thought that a wound to the stomach would kill Stiles but underestimated how quickly Derek’s distress call would mobilize the pack. Cora acted quickly, and probably saved Stiles’ life.”

Allison’s hand had reflexively come up to rest over her stomach, where her own near-fatal wound had long since scarred over. “Clear it with whoever’s in charge right now, but I’m coming to the states to help. I’ll be on a plane in a few hours, touching down in SMF tomorrow. Isaac has the flight details.”

“I’m sure Derek won’t mind. I’ll be sure to send our acting Emissary with Isaac to the airport, but I’m sure she’ll be thankful for the distraction.” Peter rolled his eyes, frowning “I swear this house has smelled like nothing but distraction for the past few days.”

Chris smirked, “Is distraction the codeword for it now?” He looked at his daughter, “Whoever is doing this knows the Hales, knows Stiles, and will probably know you. You need to proceed with caution.” 

Allison gave her father a curt nod, looking back to the camera, “I’ll see you shortly, Peter.” She headed away from the conference call.

Chris turned back to Peter, “There are very few hunters who would voluntarily kill a human – even an emissary-- without an extreme reason. And whoever is in charge clearly wants Derek alive for something, though, what they intended to get out of unleashing an alpha with a broken mate-bond is unclear.”

“Derek might not even survive it.” Peter said, “He hasn’t left Stiles’ side in days. He won’t let anyone who isn’t doctors or pack get anywhere near him. His control is fading fast and I’m honestly afraid of what happens to all of us if Stiles doesn’t wake up.”

“I’ll reach out to some of my contacts and see if anyone has heard of anything. The distress call that went out, what was its range?” 

Peter smirked, “Oh, yes, we are unfortunately aware that the McCall pack now knows our whereabouts despite all of Stiles’ effort to hide it. In fact, John called Lydia before she and Isaac had even made it to the hospital because Scott McCall asked him if he knew who Derek Hale’s mate was.”

Chris narrowed his eyes, “Did you find your daughter?” He asked darkly.

Peter huffed out a dry laugh, “I wasn’t at the hospital for that particular confrontation, but I’m told my daughter is alive, well, and nothing less than the Alpha-mate of the McCall pack.”

“Were you surprised?” 

“Disappointed, perhaps, but I knew how close Malia had gotten to both of the boys. Once Stiles was gone, it’s not a stretch to see that her affections would have transferred.” Peter ran a hand through his hair, “Do let me know if you hear anything interesting. I’ll try and keep you apprised of our situation, and I’ll do my best to protect your daughter.”

Chris nodded, smiling, “Send my regards to the pack.” The call disconnected. 

Peter sat back in his office chair, head tipped back, arms folded over his chest, eyes closed. Some days he wonders if he should have just let himself stay dead.  
\--

Derek woke to the sound of his cell phone ringing. He disentangled himself from where he’d crawled into the right side of Stiles’ bed and pulled the phone from his pocket just before the call went to voicemail. “What?” He asked.

“That’s not a very nice way to greet your favorite sister. How is Stiles?” 

“He’s fine, and Cora, you’re my only sister left, what do you want? It’s,” He paused to look at the heart monitor’s clock, “Oh, it’s only like 7pm.” 

“Were you asleep?”

Derek rolled his eyes, “Why does it matter? What did you call me for?”

“Well, as your Second, I’ve been approached by an Emissary requesting permission to visit the hospital, to see you and Stiles.”

Derek growled, “What pack?”

“The Schieve pack. It’s Marian, Derek.” Cora snorted.

The Schieve pack’s emissary was older than most of her kind. Marian Cashell was the sorceress who had taught Stiles the first protection and healing spells he’d learned. She had known Derek’s grandparents and his mother. She was one of Stiles biggest fans and most beloved teachers. Even if the Shieve pack was a more old-fashioned pack, there was a respect between the two old families. 

Derek wanted to strangle his sister. “You could have led with that, you know.”

“Listen, you’re the one who got growly with Peter, Faris and Lupe. I wasn’t taking any chances.”

“I did not get growly.” Derek sighed loudly, rubbing at his eyes. “Tell her she’s welcome to come. I don’t know what she can tell us that Faris hasn’t already, but at this point, I can’t turn down a helping hand.” Derek looked at Stiles for a long moment, “They’re going to come change his bandages at 8pm, tell her if she wants to come tonight, after that would be best.”

“Aye aye, Captain.” Cora hung up.

Derek, needing to use the bathroom and find some kind of food, stepped out of the room to see Isaac resting against the wall. Derek stared at him for a minute, “You could have come in.”

Isaac shook his head, “I didn’t want to be the one to wake you. I think that’s the first time you’ve slept in too long.” Isaac glanced around and then stepped into Derek’s space, tucking his face against his Alpha’s neck, wrapping his arms around Derek’s shoulders.

Derek leaned into the embrace, letting himself enjoy a moment of his beta’s affection. Isaac had become an asset to the pack in the years since he’d returned, and he and Derek shared a connection that was only similar to the bond between Derek and Jackson. Isaac was the first wolf that Derek had turned, and there was a level of closeness that few in the pack could rival. It helped that Stiles and Isaac had made up quickly once it was clear that Isaac was out from under Scott McCall’s influence.

Derek pulled out of the embrace, “Can you stay with him? I’ll be back. They’ll be –”

“Coming by at 8 to change his bandages.” Isaac smiled, and pressed a kiss to Derek’s cheek, dipping into the room. 

Derek returned moments later with a sandwich from the hospital cafeteria and a coffee, but stopped as soon as he could hear Isaac’s quiet voice speaking to Stiles.

“ – and I know what you’ve told me before, that if something happens to you, you want me to step in, but I can’t do that, Stiles.” Isaac was crying, “I can’t replace you for Derek. None of us can ever replace you. If you don’t come back from this, I will keep my promise and do what I can to keep Derek in one piece but, without you, who will keep the rest of us in one piece? You brought us all together. You welcomed me back with open arms despite it all – into the pack, into your bed, and I can never explain to you how much that means to all of us. You have to wake up. For Derek most of all, but for all of us.” 

Derek wiped tears out of his eyes before he knocked gently on the door. Isaac was sitting on the edge of Stiles’ bed, his right hand clutched between both of the werewolfs. Derek sat in a chair so he could eat his sandwich. 

“You probably heard that.” Isaac said, refusing to meet Derek’s eyes. 

Derek shrugged, sighing, “It’s a very Stiles thing to do, y’know.” Derek looked at his husband, “He’s been in this for so long, you’d think by now he’d understand that a mate bond doesn’t just transfer. As much as I love you, and the rest of the pack, you’re right, no one would be able to replace him.” 

Isaac exhaled slowly, nodding. “He loves you so much.” He said softly, finally looking at Derek. “It was like, two years ago, after he was injured at training and you were going completely mad in Brazil because you could feel your mate was in pain but couldn’t do anything about it. He made me promise that if something serious happened to him, I’d do my best to take care of you.”

Derek let the words settle for a few minutes, finishing the sandwich and the coffee before responding. “I’m the alpha, Isaac, It’s my job to take care of all of you.I’m sure you’d do your best to take care of me, but,” He moved closer, wrapping the beta in a tight hug. “Stiles has to wake up, for all of us.”


	4. New York City, Day -2216

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas in New York brings surprises, heavy feelings, and Derek's inability to communicate bites him in the ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first few sex scenes are here! There's so much in this chapter that isn't sex, so I'd encourage you to read it, but I'll outline the pieces of the fic in the end notes for people who want to avoid the sex. 
> 
> OKAY! HI, Chapter 4 is back and better than ever.
> 
> I got some negative comments that basically emphasized that I didn't explore a topic enough, so I chose to go back and edit that chapter. There's more discussion at the end !

The first semester of the year seemed to fly by. The classes Stiles’ was taking were actually fairly advanced for his freshman status, but they were hardly enough to be difficult. He’d reached out to some of the local supernatural community and done a few jobs – usually just re-powering protection runes or helping run out a particularly nefarious creature – which had given him enough income that an actual job wasn’t necessary. He’d spent Thanksgiving with the Hales and had plans to do the same for Christmas. 

By the time Stiles actually made it to the Hale parking garage after his December finals, he was at the end of his proverbial rope. A snowstorm had hit the night before and the drive from DC had been legitimately terrifying. Stiles’ new car didn’t handle snow like his reliable jeep had, and with traffic the drive had taken nearly 7 hours when it should have only taken 4. 

He didn’t bother with unpacking his car, just stomped through the kitchen door and stopped to shake the kettle before he threw a warming spell at it. He rummaged through the cupboards and eventually found the tea, grabbing something caffeinated and throwing it into a mug and filling it with the now-hot water. He was leaning against the counter with the mug in both of his hands, eyes closed, when he heard footsteps in the sitting room. 

“You could have called out that you were home.” Derek said softly, reaching up to wrap a hand around the back of Stiles’ neck, massaging gently. Stiles relaxed into the touch and then finally fluttered his eyes open. 

“Hi.” He said softly, sipping at his tea. “That was an awful drive.”

“I did warn you to get something with four-wheel drive, if you were gonna live somewhere it snowed.” Stiles’ dislodged Derek’s hand as he snapped his neck to the side, locking eyes with his father.

“Dad?” Stiles said, setting the tea down on the counter and walking over to hug his father. “What are you doing here? When did you even get here?” 

John smiled, ruffling his son’s hair, “Derek called, asked if I had plans for the holidays, and then offered to fly me out to spend it with you all.” 

Stiles turned back to his alpha. Or his boyfriend? He wasn’t sure exactly what label he and Derek put on the relationship. They kissed a lot more, but hadn’t actually talked beyond that, even at Thanksgiving. “You didn’t tell me you were inviting my dad.” He said, accusingly. 

Derek smiled, his eyes glinting, “It kind of defeats the purpose of a surprise if I tell you it’s happening.” He leaned down to press a soft kiss to the side of Stiles’ head. “I’ll go get your stuff out of the car, you can chat with your dad and drink your tea.” He slipped his hand into Stiles’ back pocket and retrieved the keys before heading towards the garage.  
John eyed his son warily. “I think I distinctly remember you leaving Beacon Hills to get out of werewolf stuff, Stiles. Do you want to explain how that translates to you dating Derek Hale, being in his pack, and spending holidays in New York instead of coming home?”

Stiles took another long sip of his tea before he sat down at the deep brown wooden table in the kitchen that served as an informal meal-space. He motioned to the chair across from him for his father, and actually used magic to push it out with a wink. “First of all – it is significantly cheaper to drive from DC to New York than it is to fly to Sacramento. What Derek chooses to do with his money is his business, but I only have so much.”

“I could have paid for the flight.” John said, looking hurt, “Stiles if you’re hurting for money, I can help. You do have a college fund that you’re barely using.”

Stiles shook his head, “It’s not just about the money.” He sat back against the chair, “Traveling to Beacon Hills now would be…complicated. I’m the Emissary for the Hale pack now, so technically, if I traveled back to Beacon Hills, I’d have to announce my presence to the Alpha of that territory.” Stiles made a dramatically disgusted face, “And so you can see why I’d be resistant to come back.”

The Sheriff crossed his arms over his chest and stared at his son, “So you’re telling me you’re just never going to be able to come home again?” 

Stiles chewed on the inside of his cheek and then drained the remaining liquid in the mug, “I guess it’s a good thing the Hales have the money to fly you in on a whim.” He tried for a charming smile but was sure it wouldn’t have quite made it there – or had the effect he desired on his Dad. 

John was going to grumble a response to that, but Derek came into the kitchen then, carrying Stiles’ bookbag and suitcase, along with a few assorted other bags from the car. Stiles took one of them and headed upstairs. He stopped when he got to the top of the stairs, looking at the guest bedroom, which was already cluttered with someone elses’ things.

Stiles pivoted to look at Derek who nudged Stiles forward, and then towards a bedroom three down from the guest room. His room. 

Stiles had stayed in the guest room for Thanksgiving as well, it hadn’t even really occurred to him to sleep anywhere else, or that Derek would in fact have his own room, with his own bed in it. Suddenly Stiles wished he’d used a scent-ward because he was a hundred percent sure that Derek would be able to smell the arousal that was probably wafting off of him at the idea of sharing Derek’s bed. He’d spent enough time in traditional werewolf packs to know that an invitation to the Alpha’s room was not one to be taken lightly.

Stiles set the bag down, took a few things from Derek’s hands and then turned back to the alpha. “Are you sure you want me to sleep in your bed? I’m sure it’s going to take months to get the scent of me out of those sheets – or not actually I can ward them, I just need to find some thread –” Derek was suddenly very close. 

“Don’t.” Derek said softly, one hand cupping the back of Stiles’ head and the other one pressing his body closer with the hand splayed across his back. “I want them to smell like you for months.” Derek brought their lips together and for a moment, Stiles forgot what they were even talking about, too wrapped up in the way Derek’s tongue was exploring his mouth, and how Derek’s hand on his neck had turned into Derek’s hand in his hair. 

Stiles remembered after a few seconds that he had hands of his own and that there was two-hundred-pounds of muscled werewolf that he should really have his hands all over. He absently flicked his hand over Derek’s shoulder to close the door, possibly a little too hard, and then brought his hands to Derek’s sides, running his hands up from Derek’s hips to his ribs, blunt nails dragging the edge of Derek’s sweater with them to reveal a toned stomach dusted with dark hair. Stiles felt a shiver run up Derek’s skin at the touch.

Derek pulled away after that, lips wet and eyes dark with want, “Is this okay?” 

Stiles stared at him in disbelief, “Uh, yes?” He said, not really sure what else someone says when a hot alpha werewolf wants to make out with you in his bedroom. “But also, we should probably wait until it’s a reasonable time for me to put up sound wards, because if all of a sudden we’re completely silent, it’s going to be just as obvious to my dad what we’re doing as us actually making noises.” 

Derek literally whined, “We’re consenting adults.” 

Stiles pressed a kiss to his jaw. “We have plenty of time. It’s not like Thanksgiving, I’m here til January. As badly as I want to jump you like, right fucking now, we should probably not leave my Dad alone right now, given that he just got the news that me going back to Beacon Hills is basically a no-go.”

Derek leaned back in for one more kiss, and dropped his head lower to run his nose along the column of Stiles’ throat, kissing the underside of his jaw before he stepped far enough away that Stiles couldn’t immediately feel the heat of his body. “I’ll go see what Peter wants to do about dinner. Cora should be here soon with Lydia.” Derek smiled shyly at Stiles, reaching to take his hand, “Welcome home, Emissary.” He brought the hand to his lips and then stepped out of the room. 

Peter apparently decided against cooking, and ordered delivery from the local Thai restaurant, adding an extra vegetable dish at Stiles’ insistence, looking pointedly at John. Cora and Lydia arrived from the airport before the food did, and Stiles was pretty sure that he’d rank the hug that Lydia gave him up there in like, the top five hugs he’d ever gotten. It would have lasted longer if Cora hadn’t tugged him out of Lydia’s grasp and hugged him, not-so-subtly rubbing her cheek against his to scent mark him. Peter had been the most discrete so far, casually running the back of his hand against the back of Stiles’ neck as he walked past him to get the door.

If his dad noticed, he didn’t mention it. The pack meal was jovial, warm, and with the tasteful decorations – Peter’s doing – it was the first time in years that Stiles really felt like maybe the holidays wouldn’t be terrible this year. Lydia was discussing one of her classes with Derek, who listened attentively. Peter and his father were discussing crime rates in DC and New York despite Stiles repeated attempts to derail that conversation. Cora was quiet, and Stiles touched her hand gently, getting her to look up and give him a smile. 

When everyone was mostly done eating, Cora was the first to get up from the table, quickly headed upstairs. Derek moved to follow her, but Stiles held up a hand. “I’ll go.” He said softly. It wasn’t missed by those knowledgeable that in some packs, an Emissary holding up a hand to an Alpha could be a death sentence, but Derek hadn’t even reacted.

Stiles knocked gently on Cora’s door before pushing it open, finding the young werewolf standing next to the window, her hands clenched tightly around a picture frame, tears rolling down her face. Stiles watched carefully as he moved closer, but she never even flinched. He looked down over her shoulder at the picture – Talia and Geoffrey Hale, with their three children. 

“It was easier when I thought everyone was dead.” Cora said softly, still looking out the window, “When I was out of the country and immersed in a new pack and I didn’t see anyone familiar, it was easy to pretend like I never had a family. Now, I look at Derek and Uncle Peter and I just see the empty places at the table for mom and dad and Laura. I’m so glad you’re here, Stiles. All of us are really glad – not only to have a kickass Emissary – but because you’re you. Lydia and your dad are great too. I’m sorry that I’m like this right now,” She finally looked at him. “I just miss them.” She buried her face in his shoulder, crying harder.

Stiles isn’t really sure when he became good at this kind of thing, and he’s pretty sure that listening to Cora talk is the longest time he’s ever not spoken since he was like four, but he had started to feel the pack bonds that Derek had mentioned, and right now, he knew exactly what emotion radiated down Cora’s. “It’s okay to miss them.” Stiles said softly. “It’s okay to not be okay. You’ve had to be so strong for so long, Cora. You’re like, one of the strongest people I know, and I’m friends with Lydia.” That got a half-laugh out of Cora. Stiles – for once in his life – thought hard about the words he was going to say, thankful for the copious amounts of therapy that had kept him from being a complete goner.

“Your pack in South America was what you needed then. You weren’t ready to face your grief and everything that it meant. I think if you’re feeling it now, it’s because you finally feel safe.” Stiles rubbed gently at Cora’s back, “So let yourself feel. Talk to Derek and Peter about your family. I miss my mom every day, but I know that what she would want for me is to do what feels right and makes me happy. Laura and your parents, they’d probably want you to be here, with your family.”  
Cora’s sobs slowed, and she pulls out of Stiles’ embrace to give him a teary smile, “You’re pretty good at this whole advisor thing.” She kisses his cheek. 

Stiles smirked, “Listen, losing your mom as a kid, growing up with ADHD, being possessed by a ancient demon and killing a bunch of people, you end up in therapy if you want to survive that shit. You learn some things.”

Cora picked a loose thread on Stiles’ shirt, “When do you think you’re gonna feel safe, Stiles?” Stiles’ expression hardens, “I know you miss the people in Beacon Hills.”

Stiles steps back, tucking his hands in his pockets and shrugging, “Beacon Hills doesn’t matter anymore.” He gives her a half-smile and a nod, leaving her room without more conversation. He hopes the scent of his anger didn’t reach Cora before he left.

Angry and hurting from the wound Cora prodded, he finds Derek in the library, reading, and flicks the book away with a casual swipe of his hand, careful not to lose Derek’s page. The wolf looks up at Stiles, who maneuvers himself onto the werewolf’s lap, knees digging into the soft sides of the armchair on either side of Derek’s thighs. Derek can tell something was wrong, his arms moving in slow strokes up and down his back. “What did Cora do?” He asked softly.

Stiles shook his head and brought their lips together, “I don’t want to talk.” He said, rolling with the grief he could still feel from Cora, anger at the mention of Beacon Hills, and lust that resulted from hovering over Derek. It was a façade of control, Derek could push Stiles off with minimal effort, but Derek just relaxed into Stiles’ touch. The kiss was angry, and Stiles rocked his hips forward, moaning into Derek’s mouth as his erection brushed against his. 

Derek’s hands dropped to his hips, holding them steady as he returned Stiles’ kiss. When some of the ferocity had reduced, he released Stiles’ hips, and the mage eagerly rocked them forward, pleased to feel Derek’s own erection grow as he moved. Derek released Stiles’ mouth and moved his lips to his jaw and then his neck, mouthing at the skin there as he and Stiles rutted against each other. 

Derek had never seen Stiles like this, almost feral, eager for touch and making tiny desperate noises as Derek sucked marks into the skin of his collar bone and shoulder. Derek stood up quickly, pressing Stiles back against a bookshelf, Stiles’ legs wrapping around his waist as he tried to find the right kind of friction again. Derek unwrapped his legs, and dropped to his knees, looking up at the younger man. “Can you close the door and sound-ward from here?” 

Stiles’ lazy smirk was the only answer he got before the door to the library slammed shut and suddenly, all Derek could hear were the breathy moans and fast beating of Stiles’ heart. Derek unbuckled his belt and tugged his jeans down, freeing Stiles’ erection. He made eye contact with Stiles before he took his lovers dick into his mouth, first just the head and eventually more, pressing the flat of his tongue his tongue against the salty skin, flicking it through the slit to pick up the salty-bitter pre-come that Stiles had leaked.   
Stiles was no longer trying to be quiet, nearly yelling curses as his hands gripped at Derek’s hair, his head thrown back, his hips giving tiny thrusts towards Derek’s mouth. It didn’t take long before he came, Derek taking him as deep as he could, largely in the name of making it easier to clean up. He gave a few more gentle licks as Stiles came down and then tucked the mage back into his pants. After a few minutes, when Stiles could think again, he looked down at Derek. “I swear I’ll reciprocate but I’m pretty sure you just sucked my brain out through my dick.” 

Derek just smiled at him, kissing his hip and rising to his feet, “It seemed better than you making a mess in your pants or the chair.” 

Stiles raised an eyebrow, “You just sucked me off because it required the least clean-up?” 

Derek blushed, nodding. 

Stiles leaned in to kiss Derek’s lips, catching the subtle remnants of his own taste in Derek’s mouth, “I have to admit, I haven’t quite mastered swallowing. Or blow jobs, which you’ve clearly mastered.” 

Derek rolled his eyes, “You’re eighteen. I’m 26.” He kissed Stiles’ cheek, “I’ll help you practice.” 

Stiles gave Derek a smirk, “Yeah, I bet you will.”

\--  
Derek graduates from college with his Bachelors’ the Saturday afternoon before Christmas, and the Pack – complete with Lydia and John Stilinski – go out for a celebratory meal at some ridiculously expensive restaurant that Peter insists on after. Stiles grumbles about having to wear a suit – only to be outdone by John who flat out refuses to wear a tie. Peter ignores Stiles but agrees to let John go with just the collared shirt and blazer – which Stiles is 90% sure his father did not own prior to his arrival. 

There’s a kind of weird pride in Stiles as he watches Derek cross the stage, and he can feel it from Cora and Peter too. After everything they’ve all been through, this moment felt both normal and earned. Derek had lost everything and still came through it all in one piece and had built himself a new pack. Sure, it’s a small pack, but Derek, Cora and Peter are strong, born werewolves, Lydia was a well-trained banshee, and Stiles practically thrived on how much he’d learned, how much Deaton had underestimated his magical aptitude. 

Derek had offered for the Sheriff to join the pack, but John had declined, mentioning that it might make his life harder in Beacon Hills if he’s formally tethered to a pack. Apparently, in the evenings, John had been grilling Peter for information about werewolf pack relationships and politics. Stiles was sad that his dad couldn’t be in the pack, but he understood. 

The rest of the time before Christmas passed in a blur of shopping trips, sex with Derek, and meals with the whole pack. For Christmas, Stiles had shaped small crescent moons out of bits of metal, and etched runes into them, infused with some of his power. The wolves amulets were mostly a physical defense spell, reducing the impact of incoming projectiles, allowing for quicker healing. Stiles’ father’s amulet was a combination of what he gave the wolves, and protection against possession and magical manipulation. Lydia’s took the most power, and after he’d nearly passed out, but he wouldn’t risk anyone hurting Lydia again. Her amulet was etched for physical protection, magical resistance, and a one-time-use teleportation spell that would bring her to her room in the Hale townhouse where Stiles had scratched the target rune into a floorboard while the rest of the pack slept. It was the teleportation rune that had wiped him out. 

The pack and his father listened intently as Stiles explained the amulets, each staring up at him in awe as he explained the features in turn. Lydia had surged off the couch when he explained the teleportation rune, burying her face into his chest. They both knew what it meant to Lydia that she would never be trapped anywhere again. She didn’t let go of Stiles for a long time, until Cora insisted that they continue opening presents. 

Cora and Lydia had jointly replaced essentially all of Stiles’ wardrobe, sharing pleased smirks as he unboxed more clothing than he’d ever bought for himself. His father had helpfully purchased a set of snow chains for Stiles’ car. Peter had bought Stiles a set of new journals to record his magical adventures and the new Hale pack’s history. Derek had given him a pair of inch-wide silver cuffs, pressed with a triskele in the center but leaving plenty of room for him to etch other runes he’d want nearby. Stiles had put them on immediately and couldn’t stop running his hand over the smooth edge of the metal. Derek’s blush was worth it.

Christmas dinner – prepared largely by Peter and Lydia – consisted of the largest ham Stiles had ever seen, and assorted sides. They ate jovially, and then somberly discussed the fact that the Sheriff had to return to Beacon Hills the next morning. Melissa would be picking him up from his flight into Sacramento.

After dinner, Stiles and his father sat in the less formal den, watching the basketball game idly. John turned to his son on a commercial, “I’m really proud of you, Stiles.” He said softly, smiling at him. “I know that you had a hard time of it in Beacon Hills, and I’m sorry that I didn’t protect you—”

“You did your best, Dad.” Stiles said softly, folding his hands together into his lap.

John shrugged one shoulder, “I could have done better. But regardless, you turned out okay. You and Lydia seem happy, it seems like the Hales take good care of you.” 

Stiles nodded, “When Lydia told me that the Hales were in New York, I almost didn’t come here. You were right, I left Beacon Hills to get away from werewolf bullshit, but that’s the thing, dad, this isn’t bullshit. A pack, a good pack, it feels like home, like a family.” Stiles looked away from his father, back at the TV, “Whatever half-assed attempt Scott had at making a pack failed because he thought it had to be a competition and everyone had to be the strongest all the time. To him, I was just some human who could do a little bit of magic.” Stiles held out his hand, wiggling his fingers as arcs of electricity danced across his palm. His father watched, awestruck. “Derek and Peter and Cora know what magic feels like. They’ve been in this their whole lives. They look at me and they don’t doubt for a second that I will do whatever I can to protect them.”

John touched Stiles’ shoulder, “You tried to protect Scott. You spent your whole life saving his ass.” 

Stiles let out a small, dark chuckle, “Well, I guess at some point in my life I’ll have to thank him for pushing me away.” He met his father’s eyes, “I’m where I’m supposed to be. Derek has never been anything but supportive about me going to school and getting my degree. He accepted Lydia into the pack without question. I know that you’re sad that I can’t come home, but trust me when I tell you, this is the right place.”

John leaned over to pull his son into a hug, kissing the side of his head, “I love you, Stiles. All I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy, and if you’re happy here, I’ll support you always.”

Stiles gripped his father tightly, “I love you too, Dad.”

\--

Three days after Stiles dad leaves, Stiles is naked, his dick in Derek’s mouth, and two of Derek’s fingers pressed inside of him. He’s keening on the bed in Derek’s sound-warded bedroom, whining and murmuring Derek’s name when he looks down at him and begs him, “Please dear god just fuck me already. It’s been weeks and you still haven’t. I do have to go back to school soon, please just do it.”

Derek’s eyes flare red and for half a second Stiles thinks he’s about to agree. Instead, he slips off Stiles cock and whispers, “No,” into Stiles’ hip. Stiles shudders at the air against his hip and he’s temporarily distracted by Derek stroking his wet cock with a warm, dry hand, but then he realizes what Derek said and he sits up.

Of course, that accidentally glances Derek’s fingers off his prostate, and he curses and pulls back, pulling his body off of Derek’s fingers and moving out of reach on the bed, “What the fuck do you mean, ‘No’?” He asked, kneeling on Derek’s bed, naked, hard, and now angry.

Derek looks up at Stiles, “Stiles you’re 18 –”

“Oh, thirty seconds ago your mouth was on my dick but now I’m too fucking young?” 

“That’s not what I –”

“Then why the fuck not?”   
Derek takes a long, deep breath and meets Stiles eyes, “I won’t start a mate bond with sex when you’re only 18.” He says softly. 

Stiles stared at him for like a full minute as his brain whirled through a million reasons why there’s no way it could be that simple. “Love, Sex, Blood.” Stiles said finally. He grabs for his shorts and shakes his head, tears coming hot down his face. “Got it. I’m good enough to be your emissary, but not good enough to be your mate. You don’t want to fuck me because it would start a bond. Fine, if that’s the case I’ll just go fuck someone else.”

Derek looks genuinely upset, “Stiles, that’s not –” He stares down at his hands, words failing him.

Stiles doesn’t wait to hear what Derek did mean. His temper is a lot shorter than it ever used to be. He knocks once on Lydia’s door, pushes it open and immediately scrambles for the chalk board on the back of the door – an addition he’d added to each room, hastily scrawling the runes for privacy and a set to keep Derek from opening the door. 

He turns to see Lydia, sitting up in bed with wide eyes, a book discarded on the pillow next to her. “Are you okay?” She asks softly, “Did he hurt you?”

Stiles stares at her, trying to find the words, “Not physically.” He said, and his eyes rake over her body. He’s already electrified from what Derek had been doing to him. He won’t force Lydia – could never hurt her like that, but if it’s something she’ll willingly give, tonight, he’ll willingly take it. “Remember back in Boston when you asked me if I’d touch you inappropriately if I slept in the same bed as you?”

Lydia’s eyes go dark and she nods. He watches her trace her tongue over her lips and then pull it back into her mouth. “You said you wouldn’t, consciously.”

Stiles crosses the room to the edge of the bed, sitting carefully, “What would you have done if I’d said I wanted to?” He asks, bringing a hand up to cup her cheek. 

Lydia stares at his eyes, “Derek?” She whispers, eyes flicking to the door.

Stiles almost growls – he’s been spending too much time with werewolves – and surges forward to kiss her. She doesn’t resist, hands scrambling to grab at his shoulders, whimpering beneath him as he moves his body over hers. He pulls away, “Is this okay?” She nods and he returns to it, one hand running from her neck, down over her chest and onto her belly. He thinks critically for a moment and then pulls back from the kiss, trailing kisses down her neck and onto her chest. He sits back on his knees between her legs and brings both hands to the hem of the sleeping shirt Lydia wore.

She doesn’t resist as he pulls it off, baring herself for him as her own hands dance over Stiles’ skin, both of them learning each other in the only way they never had in years of surviving the worst together. Stiles returns to kissing her throat, peppering over both of her breasts, sucking a nipple into his mouth as her hands reach for the waistband of his shorts. 

Stiles pulls back for a moment, “Let me do this for you first.” He whispers, pulling the bedcovers down and tugging off Lydia’s sleeping pants, and then her underwear. He looks at her like she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen and Lydia is flattered for a half a second before he nuzzles his nose in against soft red curls and then with the first touch of his tongue she’s pressing back into the pillows with a moan. 

She swears he’s using magic because it feels like hands are everywhere, tugging at her nipples, caressing the sides of her body. His real tongue presses, flat against her clit, and one of his fingers slips inside her, easily, aided by the wetness that started spreading in her as soon as he’d looked at her with those lust filled brown eyes. 

She comes screaming his name and is thankful he’d thought to throw up the privacy rune. She scratches her hands through his hair and tugs, pulling him up for a kiss, moaning again at the taste of herself on his tongue. His finger inside her pulls out, and he stares at her for a long moment, still lost in a haze of desire. 

She knows him well enough to know that this isn’t him. In every other aspect of his life, Stiles takes charge, takes control, gives orders. But not here. At night, in Boston, he’d crawl into her arms and hide there, let her stroke his back until he fell asleep. He’s probably one of the most powerful mages in the country – if not the world – but there’s nothing he wants more than to give himself up to someone he trusts. 

She presses a hand to his shoulder and brings one knee up on the outside of his hips, pushing firmly and using her whole body to roll him over. Something in his gaze changes, his pupils dilate, and he pulls her back for a kiss, a silent thank you. She tugs his shorts down, wraps a manicured hand around his cock and takes it into her mouth briefly, wetting it with her spit. She can taste Derek’s saliva still on him and tries to ignore it.

She pulls away and he whines, hands gripping her back hard enough that she might bruise. She straddles his waist, “Condom or magic, Stiles.” It was something they had learned from the vampire in Boston, a contraception spell he’d jokingly told them about. She whispers it against his lips and feels his hand slip to rest above her pubic bone, hears him groan out words as his hips thrust, desperate for friction. She waits for him to move his hand, and then aligns herself over his cock, sinking back with a groan.

He’s already close, she can tell, so she brings his hand to her clit, which he eagerly circles as she rides him, using muscles she knows will be sore tomorrow. She’s done this rarely, but for Stiles, it’s worth it. His other hand is on her breast, his golden brown eyes burning up into her green ones. She leans down to kiss him, groaning as a second orgasm washes over her from his face and his hand and his cock deep inside her. He follows her down, thrusting up and losing himself for a moment as his hips twitch feebly through his own orgasm.

She pulls off and arranges herself on his chest. The sheets will be sticky tomorrow, but Stiles looks exhausted. He looks at her with eyes that have gone from angry and lustful to heartbroken. “What did Derek do?” She asks softly, tracing a pattern onto the skin of his chest. 

“He wouldn’t fuck me.” Stiles said and it sounds so bitter, “He said he wouldn’t start a mate bond with me at 18.”

Lydia presses up to look him. “Were those his exact words?” She asked, kissing the edge of Stiles’ jaw. Tomorrow, there will be hell to pay, but tonight, she doesn’t care.

“He said he won’t start a mate bond with sex.” 

Lydia ponders this. “You need to talk to him tomorrow. Apologize. I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t kick me out of the pack.”

Stiles inhales sharply, “No, Lydia he couldn’t. He wouldn’t.” Stiles shifts to wrap his arms around her, burying his face in her hair, “I won’t let him.” It sounds like a promise.

Lydia buries her face into Stiles’ chest and lets herself sleep.

\--

Stiles hears voices when he wakes up, opens a bleary eye to see that Lydia had erased the runes from the chalkboard, and the door was cracked open. The night rushes back to him, and he closes his eyes again and wills himself back to sleep.

“—I could kill you for what you did.” Derek sounds pissed.

“No you can’t.” Lydia sounds serious, and maybe a little afraid, “I mean, sure, physically you could rip me apart, but you won’t because you know that you’d lose him for good if you did.”

“I lost him for good anyway, you won, Lydia, are you pleased with yourself?”

Lydia actually laughs, “Do you think he came to me last night and asked me to marry him, you stupid, stupid man? He came to me because you wouldn’t give him what he asked for, what he needed. He came to me because he knew I would.” 

Stiles sits up now, trying to decide if he should be a big boy and go out there and face the mess he created, or just stay here, sticky with his own come and let Lydia fight the battle for him. 

“I had good reasons.” Derek said, but it took too long for the words to come, meaning he hadn’t expected what Lydia had said. 

“Not ones you explained very well to him. He’s 18. I’m 18. We’ve been fighting for our lives since before we could even legally drive. He loves you. He’s always loved you, Derek.” Okay rude of her to drop his secrets like this but Stiles sort of deserves whatever happens now. “Last night you effectively rejected him. All he heard was that you didn’t want to give him a mate bond. He loves you, and you told him he wasn’t good enough to bond with.”

Derek pushes past Lydia into the bedroom, and Stiles looks up at him with wide brown eyes. Derek’s eyes are red – the human way, like he’s been crying, “Is that true?” Derek asks, his voice heavy with unshed tears. 

Stiles looks past Derek to Lydia, who motions to Derek expectantly, and then back to the alpha. “Yes.” He said softly, “Somewhere between almost dying a bunch of times I fell in love with you.”

Derek pauses for a moment, taking long, deep breaths. He brings his hand to his mouth. “I didn’t even check.” He whispers. 

And then Stiles feels it. It’s like a finger stroking down the bond that he and Derek share, and the bond – blood red – feels twice as strong. He looks up at Derek who really has started crying. “What? Derek, I’m sorry—” 

“Don’t.” Derek whispered, “I need time, space. Stiles, you should go.” 

“Derek you can’t just kick him out.” Lydia said, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“He’s the alpha, he can do what he wants.” Cora’s voice echoed in from the hallway, “This is Stiles’ mistake, Lydia. Don’t let him burn you more than he already has.” She stepped into the room, glaring at Stiles. “Everyone tried to tell you, Stiles. Even I tried to tell you, to talk about Beacon Hills, talk about what you were running from, instead, you just let yourself get angrier and angrier.”

Stiles looked up at the ceiling and drew in a deep breath, licking at the tears on his lips before nodding, “Okay.” He looked at the Hale siblings and Lydia with terrifyingly dark brown eyes, and Lydia took one step forward and then Stiles vanished, leaving nothing but an empty bed and the acidic scent of magic on the air.

\--

Stiles had never actually performed the teleportation spell, and he was surprised by the amount of his strength it took. He’d landed, completely naked, in his bedroom in D.C. It took most of the rest of his physical strength to move himself to his bed, curling under the covers as he shook from the anxiety and the exertion. He stared at the ceiling and tried to breathe, tried to pull his magic in, wrap it around himself like another layer of blankets.

When he woke, he sat up in bed, hands scrubbing through his hair as the memories of everything – everything – came crashing down around him. He was alone again, and this time, it was his own fault. He had tried, so many times, to seem like he knew what he was doing, being an emissary, controlling his magic, getting into a relationship with Derek Hale. The feeling of family felt so far away, slashed to pieces as Cora reminded him that he wasn’t really their family. 

Stiles’ phone was in New York, his car was in New York. He’d run, just like he’d run from Beacon Hills. He was so tired of running away from his own mistakes, from the Nemeton, from the Darach, from the Nogitsune. Stiles sat in bed and tried to think of a plan, but failed, so instead, he rolled over, reached down to activate the dreamless sleep runes etched into his headboard, and slipped back to sleep.

\--

“Lydia, you don’t have to go.” Cora said softly, looking briefly at the other woman as they drove to the airport, “Derek doesn’t blame you.”

Lydia pressed her lips together and rolled her eyes, “He should. I could have said no, should have said no.”

“Lydia, the pack bonds can be overwhelming. With the addition of his status in the pack, he would have been hard to resist for any—”

“He gave me multiple times to say no. I don’t love Stiles, not the way Derek does. And I’m not going to sit there and be another reminder to Derek that once again, someone who he loved hurt him.” 

Cora shrugged, “Can’t argue there.” She rolled her eyes, “Derek is going to forgive him, both of you really, once he processes this.” They pulled up to the airport and Lydia reached for her handbag, stepping out of the car to grab her suitcase from the trunk.

She leaned back down, “I hope Derek figures that out before Stiles snaps.” 

Cora cocked her head, “What do you mean?”

Lydia licked her lips. “Stiles is dangerous, Cora. More dangerous than any werewolf or banshee or vampire. You were right, he needs to talk about what happened in Beacon Hills, about why he left and why he won’t go back. In the meantime, until he’s ready, it’s up to the people that love him to keep him from hurting himself – or anyone else.”

“You’re not going back to Boston, are you?” Cora asked, critically.

Lydia shook her head, “No, I’m not.”

“Then you should probably know, Peter left this morning. It’s only a four-hour drive. He’s going to beat you there.” Cora winked and pulled away.

\--  
Stiles had a headache when he woke up, and snapped to attention realizing that he was sitting, rather than laying in his bed where he had fallen asleep. Someone had done him the courtesy of digging out a pair of sweatpants for him before strapping him to a chair. He tried to draw on his power but couldn’t, and he couldn’t pull hard enough to break the restraints.

“Ah, good, you’re awake.”

Stiles looked up at the ceiling and dragged in a long breath, “Y’know, on the list of people who I would have expected to take me out of my bed, restrain me, and kidnap me to—” Stiles looked around, “My living room? You weren’t even on the list, which I guess was stupid, because until you were in my pack, you would basically always be on the list.”

Peter sat on the couch across from the chair that Stiles was contained in, “Now it’s your pack, hmm? Really reveling in that alpha-mate status.”

“Just waiting for him to get around to breaking that bond.” Stiles said, biting his lower lip, “And I guess you’re here to kill me? How did you even get in here?”

Peter laughed, “Aside from the fact that I’m a werewolf, a Left Hand, and incredibly intelligent? You poofed out of New York and left all of your things behind, Stiles. Really, me being here is doing you a favor.” He motioned to a duffel Stiles recognized as his own.

“Cut the crap, Peter. Are you here to hurt me, beat me, tell me how I’m a terrible human being, tell me that I deserve to die for cheating on Derek –” 

“Well, you’re wrong about that. Non-family packs are typically polyamorous. The feelings aren’t there for family members – not usually, anyway. But you are a human, and lack a uterus, so according to the more animalistic side of us, both of you should sleep with other pack members to create children. It’s more complicated for humans, but on a very basic level, you did nothing worthy of death because Lydia is pack.” Peter sat back and crossed one leg over the other, “No, Stiles, what you did wrong was leave him because he said no. What you did wrong was hurt a man who has been hurt enough.” The last word came out a growl.

“Yeah, well you’d know all about hurting Derek, wouldn’t you, Peter?” Stiles snipped, eyes narrowing, “Has he ever forgiven you for killing Laura?”

Peter shrugged, “I don’t expect he ever will. I’ve never really forgiven him for killing me, so I expect on that front we’re even. And you’re right, Stiles, I am very aware of just how much Derek has been hurt in his life. I knew about Paige. I found out too late to stop what Kate was doing to Derek. Did you know she forced him to give her a mate bond, Stiles?”

Stiles stared at Peter, “You’re lying.” 

“Why would I lie about this, Stiles? I’m really just here to help you, help you understand why Derek didn’t give in to your teenage urges. You’re a human, Stiles. You may feel pack bonds, even see them, because you’re a powerful mage, but you’re not a wolf. You’ll never understand the way it feels to have to tear your own soul in half to free it from the grasp of someone you thought you loved.” 

Stiles dragged in a breath, “Derek said he didn’t want to start a mate bond with sex.” Tears welled in his eyes, “He was afraid I was going to be like her.”

“With good reason, Stiles. You show up out of the blue, spouting off about magical travels and everything you’ve learned, he immediately gets sucked back into your orbit like he always has. He makes you our emissary, and then suddenly, you’re begging him to have sex with you? I know that in your limited experience that might be how relationships go, but I would have thought that you had learned enough to know it’s a bit more complicated for people like us.”

Stiles had sank into the chair, boneless, “If you’re here to kill me, Peter, just get it over with.” 

Peter shook his head, “Ah, no. I assure you, Stiles, my point in coming here was not to kill you, I’m here to deliver your things, explain how thoroughly you fucked up, and to warn you.” Peter stepped close to Stiles, “If you’re doing this for the wrong reasons, and you hurt him again, with something that isn’t a childish mistake? I will end you, regardless of s of the repercussions.” 

As Peter stepped away from him, the door to the apartment opened and Stiles could hear muffled voices as Peter moved towards the door. When he rounded the corner he was flanked by Lydia and a tall, lithe man with regally braided black hair and silver-blue eyes. Stiles examined him for a long moment before he registered the ears. Pointed ears. “Lupe?” He asked, furrowing his brows.

The elf smiled, “I was wondering if you’d recognize me, Stiles. I’d say you’re looking well but…” He tipped his head and shrugged. “Peter called, said he needed assistance in interrogating a powerful mage.” The elf gave Peter a long side eye, “He failed to mention it was his packs own mage.”

Stiles sighed and looked at Lydia, “Why are you here?” He asked, “Didn’t I get you into enough trouble?”

Lydia leaned back against the wall, “I’m here to make sure you weren’t dead.” She glared at the back of Peter’s head. 

“I wasn’t going to kill him.” Peter rolled his eyes, “Lupe, I’m done, you can let him go.”

The elf nodded, held out a hand, and for a brief moment his eyes glowed silver as he stripped away the magic that was laced into the ropes binding Stiles. Stiles sighed with relief as he felt for his own net of power, stepping out of the chair. He looked critically at Lupe, “How do you know Peter Hale?” 

Lupe gave a mischievous grin, “We told you, Stiles, that we rarely had visitors. Rarely, not never. A resurrected werewolf was quite a marvel for our Queen to behold.” The elf turned to Lydia, “I hear you were instrumental in it’s happening.”

Lydia looked down at her nails, bored, “Not by choice.” 

As comforting as the banter was, Stiles knew that the situation was more serious than that. “Peter did you bring my phone?” The wolf motioned to the duffel and Stiles dove for it, digging through and dialing before he could think. It rang three times and went to voice mail. Stiles heart sank. He tried again. A third time, sobbing by the fourth before Lydia pulled the phone out of his hand.

“We made a mistake.” She said, “You made a mistake. Pack rules or no pack rules, you violated his trust. You broke the first rule of consent, Stiles. Derek said no, and you threw a fit.” She kissed his forehead, “He needs time.”

Stiles nodded, curling into the corner of the couch and waited. 

\--  
Two weeks after Stiles vanished from the apartment, well into the winter semester, Cora stormed into Derek’s bedroom after school. The Alpha’s job search had been good, he’d had a few interviews with brokerage firms and financial investment centers, but so far, he’d hardly left the apartment aside from interviews. When he was home, he was in his bedroom, isolating himself further from the pack. 

Cora didn’t bother knocking, “How much longer do we all get to be depressed for, Derek?”

Derek looked up from his book with a crooked eyebrow, but no words. Ah good, back to nonverbal.

“You’re fucking radiating it down the pack bonds. All I can think about is being separated from my mate, worrying about him, and being hurt by him, and I don’t even have a mate.”

Derek furrowed his brows, and brought his hand to his chest, “Sorry.” He said. “I’m just…processing.”

“No, you’re sulking and isolating, your two greatest talents.”  
Derek glared, “My mate slept with the girl he’s been in love with his entire life because he was mad at me for not giving him penetrative sex. I think I get to be mad.”

“Mad yes, Derek. But not to the point of damaging yourself, and your pack.” Cora sat on the edge of Derek’s bed, “Stiles talked to me over Christmas, about how I had held back my emotions until I felt safe enough to start healing. Stiles is hurting, Derek. Not just from your fight, but from everything he’s gone through. He’s hurting and he’s volatile. The love bond is probably all that is keeping him from completely losing it.”

Derek pressed his lips into a thin line, “So now, I get to be responsible for the fact that my mate hurt me, and it’s still my job to keep him from going over the edge?”

“Yes because its STILES.” Cora stood up and threw her arms out, “And because you keep calling him your mate, Derek. You still love him, you still want him, you know that he knows it was a mistake, you know he knows about Paige and Kate –”

“What?” Derek said, his voice deadly quiet. 

Cora froze, “Which…part are you confused about?”

“How does Stiles know about Paige and Kate.” Derek said, moving from the bed in a graceful, predatory movement, standing a mere foot from his sister, “Who told him?” His eyes flashed.

Cora’s flashed gold in response as she whispered, “Peter.” 

Derek was gone before Cora could move.

Derek found Peter in his office, hauled him out of the chair and threw him into the nearest wall, books falling from the shelves, “How dare you.” He said, eyes glowing red.

Peter stood up slowly, adjusting his sweater and crossing his hands over his chest, “You’re going to need to be more specific, Derek.”

“You told Stiles about Paige, and about Kate?”

Peter gave a slow nod, realization dawning, “I told Stiles about Paige back when it was relevant. Y’know, alpha pack, evil scheming girlfriend, I’m sure you remember.” Peter ignored Derek’s growl, “I told Stiles about Kate much more recently, after he tried to do exactly the same thing she did all those years ago.”

“Those weren’t your stories to tell.” Derek said, voice soft, pained, “And Stiles isn’t Kate, he wasn’t trying to control me he was just…” Derek stepped away from Peter, scowling, “Lashing out because he was angry and making stupid choices.” 

Peter’s grin grew, “I’m so glad you came to that conclusion all on your own, Derek. Now, if I can be so bold as to make a suggestion, before our mage makes any decisions he can’t come back from, I’d suggest you let him know that you’ve reached that conclusion.”

Derek punched him before he stalked from the office.

\--  
Two weeks of radio silence hadn’t done Stiles any good. Lydia had left to go back to her own schooling, and even then, Stiles was having a hard time focusing, studying, or caring. No amount of phone calls with his dad, or Melissa, who he’d cracked and called after a week had passed, would help fill the hole. Cora said Derek was still processing it, Lydia reminded him that if Derek hadn’t broken the mate bond, he hadn’t given up.

Two different Alphas, attracted by the vulnerable single alpha-bond he’d possessed had tried to take him, but failed, and he had finally called the alpha of the local pack who had agreed to up patrols in their territory. Regardless, a tingle went down Stiles’ spine as soon as he stepped out of his car for the day, his wards warning him that there was an alpha in his apartment. 

Stiles reached for the gun in his glove compartment and made sure it was loaded, stepping carefully into his apartment, masking his scent and any sounds with magic. He spun into the living room and pointed his weapon, only to see Derek’s surprised face on his couch. “Y’know, you could have called.” He said, trying to push down the tears that started to crawl up as he flipped the safety on the gun and set it on the coffee table. 

“Have you been targeted?” Derek asked softly, turning towards Stiles as he sank onto the far edge of the couch.

Stiles nodded, “I’m a partially bonded alpha-mate that doesn’t smell like an alpha. It’s fine, I have it under control. I talked to the local alpha and they stepped up patrols. He said I shouldn’t have any more problems. Imagine my surprise when my defense wards told me there was an alpha in my apartment.” Stiles curled in around himself, tucking his knees to his chest. 

Derek wanted nothing more than to pull Stiles to him and make that pained look go away, but he knew there were things he needed to say before that happened, “Peter told you about Kate.” He said, waiting for Stiles’ acknowledgement. “And apparently Paige, a long time ago.” Stiles gave another curt nod, “I should have told you those stories myself. I should have made sure you understood that I’m not…” Derek reached up to rub a hand over his face, “I wasn’t like you – the way you were when I met you, Stiles. I was…”

“Normal?” Stiles offered with a cock of his eyebrow.

Derek bit back a laugh, “Yeah, normal. I was just your average born werewolf. I didn’t grow up fighting for my life – I had a pack to do that for me. I’ve never been ritually sacrificed to save my family, or possessed by a trickster spirit, but I have been used. I have been hurt by people I trusted every time I’ve let them in.”

Stiles face grew dark and he looked away, “And now I just add to that tally.”

“You hurt me. There’s no denying that you running from me to Lydia hurts, Stiles. But I need to take responsibility for my part in this too. I didn’t explain anything to you, and you’re a lot better at this when you have all the facts. I was so wrapped up in not pushing you too hard or too fast, I didn’t stop to think that you wouldn’t understand what I meant, why I was hesitating.” 

Stiles returned his eyes to Derek and for the first time, Derek saw hope spark to life in the soft brown eyes. “You’re not here to break the bond, are you?” Stiles said softly, uncurling and moving minutely closet to Derek.

Derek shook his head, “I love you, Stiles.” He held out a hand and Stiles gave him the hand readily, both of them leaning into the touch, exhaling hard at the idea of being reunited with their mate. “I know that your choices weren’t made out of spite, or malevolence. I know that you’ve been dealing with your own demons.”

“Thankfully not literally this time.” Stiles said, and a smile crossed his features, “I love you too, y’know?” He leaned closer, and Derek met him half way, bringing their lips together in a brief kiss. 

Derek leaned forward to press Stiles back against the couch, “I’m still not going to complete the bond – not yet. We have a lot to talk about before we make this more permanent than it already is, but I can help you smell like an alpha.”

Stiles cocked an eyebrow, “Can you? What did you have in mind?” 

Derek surged in for another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sex scene 1: In the library, Stiles and Dere
> 
> Sex scene 2: after the sheriff leaves, part 1 is S/D part 2 is Stiles/Lydia
> 
> Now with more angst!!
> 
> I edited this chapter, making it now much longer than originally planned, and I'm going to have to add onto chapter 6 too, and maybe remove/postpone a scene I had already written, because I think for the plot, that would have to come later. For now, I hope this version of the chapter is more well received!
> 
> Thank you to those who are sticking with me. Things start picking up in the "present" chapters next chapter!! Chapter 7 is by far my favorite so far, so I'm excited to share that one!!


	5. Sacramento, Day 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek has been at Stiles' bedside for four days. His control is slipping. A friend arrives to help, and the pack reminds their Alpha that he's not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update is Sunday. My background chapters (even chapters) seem to be a lot longer than my main plot chapters, but that's mostly because apparently this fic is turning into like two fics in one and I can't make myself stop lmfao.

Isaac had left after they changed Stiles’ bandages, but not before he’d talked a nurse into letting him drag a reclining chair from the maternity ward down to Stiles’ room. Derek was 100% sure that there were a lot of dimpled, charming smiles and false promises behind that particular favor, but the chair was more comfortable than sleeping slumped over on Stiles’ hospital bed, so he’d curled up under a thin hospital blanket and fallen back asleep somewhere around midnight.

When Derek wakes up next, there’s a short, plump, white haired lady sitting in a chair flipping pages on a kindle that looked incredibly out of place in her hands. “Do you know that my pack won’t enter the room if I’m sleeping because they’re afraid to wake me?” He said softly, stretching out. The clock on the heart monitor tells him it’s just after 8am. He looks to Stiles, his face falling.

The emissary from Reno, Marian, looked up at him with a knowing smile, “Pup, I’ve been sneaking around werewolves – even Alphas – since before your mother was born.” She set the kindle to the side and walked over to the hospital bed, her face transitioning from her gentle chiding to concern as she stroked a piece of Stiles’ hair out of his face. “He looks good for someone who lost enough blood to be dead twice over, and who survived at the hands of hunters without his magic for 48 hours.”

Derek sits up and furrows his brows, “How do you know he was without his magic for 48 hours?” 

Marian doesn’t look up, “Mieczysław Stilinski-Hale is one of, if not the strongest mage in the world, Derek. If he had access to his powers, he would not have been in captivity for 48 hours.” 

Derek pointed to Stiles’ wrapped wrist, “Those runes have power in them, and they weren’t there before he left.”

Marian ran her hand over the bandages, humming to herself, “No one can cut Stiles off from his power completely, not now that he’s fully bonded to you. He’d always be able to access magic and use it on himself. I think whatever they did to him involved containing him. It’s possible the spell is still there, and that’s why he’s still like this – in some ways he’s still trapped.”

Derek’s blood ran cold, “Something like a cage?” He said, dryly. Marian’s eyes snapped to him. “He was in a cage when I found him, Marian. It wasn’t even locked; it was just closed.”

Marian nodded, her steely grey eyes flickering with intelligence and anger, “A cage would be one way to do it. Archaic but if they prevented Stiles’ magic from leaving the cage, he’d be able to cast things like this on himself,” She pointed to his wrist, “but not harm them, or escape.”  
Derek’s right hand reached reflexively for his left, spinning the platinum band around his left finger. His wedding ring had been crafted by a supernatural jeweler, and Stiles had personally overseen the etching of the runes it contained, and even three years later it sang with Stile’s magic. He’d never had to use the teleportation out that, over time, Stiles had given each of them. Lydia’s had come first, so long ago now, but now all of the pack had a way to draw on Stiles’ magic and escape.

Stiles’ own ring was still missing. Stiles didn’t need the teleportation rune to teleport, or for most of his magic, but they helped him focus, helped him target his magic and restrict how much of it he used at a time. Taking his ring at all was just straightforward emotional trauma. Losing the dreamless sleep runes was another blow. Knowing that even with the runes, Stiles wouldn’t have been able to escape was a knife to the gut. 

Derek let out a hard sigh, “I’m going to go to the bathroom and find some food. Do I need to call another wolf, or can I trust you to protect him?”

Marian smirked, “No harm will befall your mate with me here, Alpha.” She nodded her head in respectful deference to an alpha that wasn’t her own, and Derek swept from the room. 

When he returned, Cora and Faris were also in Stiles’ hospital room, holding a homemade breakfast, which he took gratefully. He ate it slowly as he watched Marian hover over Stiles, touching each of the places where injuries were, spending a long time with her hand pressed over his stomach. When Derek had finished eating, she turned to the wolves in the room, “Can you give us some privacy? Longer than a bathroom break? Go home, Derek. Stiles will be safe. Take a nap, take a shower, see your pack. Even I can feel your fraying control.”

Cora lit up, clearly amused at someone else bossing her alpha around, “C’mon, Der. Allison is flying in today, we can go home, you can shower and be there to greet her, and then you can come back.”

Derek looked between the two women but knew he had already lost. He looked hopefully at Faris, but the man just gave him a small smile. “Fine.” He turned to Marian, “You’ll call me if anything changes.” It wasn’t a question.

Marian nodded, “Keep your mage close, if I need you quickly, I’ll send word to him.” Derek opened his mouth to respond but just closed it with a click and stalked out of the room. Marian furrowed her brow and looked at the Hale pack members in the room. “Did I say something wrong?”

Cora shrugged, followed Derek out of the room after kissing Marian’s cheek. Faris lingered for a moment, looking at Stiles and then at Marian, “I’m sure you meant no offense, but I’m not Derek’s mage.” He motioned to the still body on the bed, “He is.” He gave her a small head tilt and left the room, sweeping after the Hales.

\--  
Jackson sat a coffee down on the desk of the detective in charge of Stiles’ kidnapping and attempted murder case and dropped down into the chair next to it. Detective Frank Lewis looked over at Jackson with an annoyed grimace but took a drink from the coffee cup anyway. “I don’t have any new information for you, Whittemore.” 

Jackson smirked and leaned down to pull the file out of his bag, “I know, so I thought I’d come down and offer some assistance. Now that I’m sure you’re not going to charge Derek, I’m happy to do so.” He opened the file, revealing a sketch of a face, “This is the man Derek saw shoot Stiles. We don’t know who he is, don’t recognize him.” He flipped the page, “Here’s a detailed timeline of Special Agent Stilinski-Hale’s whereabouts in the week prior to his kidnapping. This, of course, is law enforcement sensitive material, so I trust you’ll keep it close to the vest.”

Flipping the page again, a short list of typed names is revealed, “This is a list of Stiles’ known enemies. The circumstances are above your paygrade, but it’s the best we can come up with as far as getting to the bottom of this.”

The list was short; Gerard Argent, Kate Argent, Deucalion Rouge, Theo Raeken, Tamora Monroe, Araya Calavera, Some of them were linked to Stiles’ time in Beacon Hills, others his adventures around the country and abroad. The pack wasn’t completely sure that Gerard was dead, so he stayed on the list. Kate hadn’t been heard from in years, but she was an unending threat. 

The detective closed the folder, “Alright, Whittemore, you don’t do this shit for nothing, what’s the catch? I was going to have to call Hale in today to get this information, and conveniently you just waltz in with it.”

Jackson just smiled, a casual, innocent smile, “I’m doing you a favor. We want this case solved. We want to know that Stiles is safe.” He looked at the detective, eyes growing hard, “And I strongly suggest that you come to me, not Derek if you need more information. He’s not handling the injuries to his husband well, and the last thing he needs is to be pestered by the police.”

Frank eyed Jackson wearily, “Alright. Thank you for your help. How’s the kid doing? I’ve sent uniforms to the hospital for information, but he’s got some heavy security protocols.”

Jackson sighed, “He’s alive, still comatose. I’ll be sure to let you know if his status changes.” Jackson stood, brushing imaginary lint from the front of his tailored suit, “Thank you for your cooperation, Detective.”

As the young lawyer walked away, the detective could have sworn there was something strange about his eyes.

\--

Marian’s brow is sweating when she finally sees the sign she was looking for. She’s been searching in the darkness of magic. It’s sort of like space, it’s difficult to get to, and even more difficult to navigate, and it’s sapping her strength to even be here. The sign is small, a crescent moon superimposed over a triskele, searing white against the darkness. She touches it and holds on for dear life as it drags her down further into the darkness.

Stiles voice bursts into her head, “Marian thank god, what happened, where am I?” 

There are no images, just a panicked voice inside the head of a body that doesn’t even flinch, “Stiles, you’ve been in a coma for four days.”

“Oh my god. Fuck. Is Derek okay?”

“What do you think, my dear?”

“My heart didn’t stop. The bonds didn’t break. I’m not dying now. I’m fine, I just can’t wake up. I made sure my heart didn’t stop, Marian. I cast that spell a long time ago, even if my heart should have stopped, it wouldn’t stop beating until I ran out of magic, or the whole pack was there.”

Marian’s brow furrowed, “Stiles, you’re lucky you got out of this alive as it was. Draining your own magical reserves to keep your heart beating – what does that accomplish?”

“I don’t know if Derek could survive breaking a thrice-forged alpha-mate bond. I don’t know if he’d want to, but if the pack was there, maybe they could…help him.” The voice had drifted from sure and intense to scared. “Marian tell him that I love him.”

“He knows, my dear boy. He knows. The pack is with him. Now, tell me what you know. What magic put you here?”

“I don’t know, I’ve searched every goddamn inch of this body and aside from the obvious, nothing is wrong. My memories are intact, my heart is beating fine, my lungs work, there’s no notable damage to my brain. I can’t feel any spells, at least not this deep. I hear things, sometimes, voices, laughter, tears, but I can’t open my eyes, can’t make sense of things.” Stiles sounds panicked again.

Marian’s body began to shake, “I can’t hold this connection much longer, Stiles. Hold on, don’t give up. The Argent girl is coming, she can check for hunter traps that I might have missed, Peter informs me that Lupe has gone for an audience with the queen to request her assistance. You have powerful friends and a pack who loves you and needs you. We will get you back.”

“Tell them I love them, Marian. I’ll hold on as long as I can.”

Marian sits back into the chair with a heavy thud, dragging deep breaths into her chest as she feels her entire body quake. She reaches for the water next to her chair and drinks It down messily. She’d had to dive deep into the magical abyss to find Stiles, deeper than she’d ever been before. And for nothing.

No, not nothing. She’d made contact. Stiles was alive, he was in there, they just had to find out what was trapping him and get him out. 

But for now, she was wiped, physically and magically, and knew that she was no longer able to protect Stiles as she’d promised Derek. She lifted a shaking hand to her phone to call Cora as a tall man in a Sheriff’s uniform walked in. She tried to draw her magic together to defend Stiles before she saw what poked out from the collar of his uniform, one of Stiles’ amulets, a crescent moon. “Will Derek growl at me if I leave you alone with him?” She asked, warily.

The man shook his head, “You must be Marian, Cora told me you were coming through.” He held out his hand, “I’m John Stilinski.” The resemblance jumped into place.

The mage’s father. Marian shook his hand lightly before drawing more water, “I have so much to ask you about him, and about his mother, but right now, I need rest.” She leaned her head back against the wall, “You’re sure Derek won’t growl? I can’t handle being growled at right now.”

John patted her on the shoulder and moved to take the seat next to his son’s bed, “No one will hurt my son while I’m here. And I’ll make sure my son-in-law doesn’t growl.”

Marian’s lips twitched upwards at the quiet confidence, a confidence she recognized as painfully similar to the one Stiles wielded and let herself fall into much-needed slumber.

\--

Lydia had begrudgingly agreed to leave with Isaac to pick up Allison from the airport but wasn’t pleased about it – even less so when Derek, Cora and Faris had arrived as they were leaving. “Make sure he takes a shower.” She’d called out as Isaac pushed her towards the parking garage beneath the building the pack lived in. It was similar to the one in New York City, but larger, the better part of an apartment building that the pack had renovated to one large living quarter. There were 7 permanently occupied rooms – Stiles and Derek, Jackson and herself, Cora, Isaac, Peter and Lupe, and Faris. There were additional rooms, some designated for a specific guest like the Sheriff, and others sparsely decorated and occasionally cleaned. 

Lydia would be surprised if Allison ended up in a guest room, and not just Isaac’s bed. Their relationship during their years in France seemed complicated, and given her own history, it wasn’t her place to comment on it. Allison wasn’t pack, but was a friend to the pack, which meant Isaac was free to do what he wanted. Lydia had a sneaking suspicion that if Allison even gave a hint that she wanted to stay for longer than a visit, he’d be in ready support of it.

“Allison does know she’s basically throwing herself into the fire, right? We still know essentially nothing about the situation, it could be dangerous.” Lydia stared out the window at the passing concrete jungle as Isaac drove.

“Allison is an adult like the rest of us. And she’s perfectly capable of protecting herself.” Isaac said, fiddling with his scarf and pushing his sunglasses up on his nose, “Besides, Stiles is her friend. She wants to help.”

“Do you remember what happened the last time Allison came to help? We all want to help, Isaac. We can’t all have what we want.” That was the part that stung the most. Lydia could do nothing. Absolutely nothing to actually help the man who would give his own life to save hers, who had pulled her out of more bad situations than she could count. She reached up to absently touch the metal moon around her neck, an updated version from the one he’d made her for Christmas years ago. 

They pulled up to the airport, parked, and walked to the arrivals, leaning back against the pillars. Isaac stood on guard, hands in his pockets for an air of nonchalance, but Lydia could see his eyes scanning the open area. She crossed her own hands over her chest and looked down at her watch. Allison’s plane had landed ten minutes ago, she could be there at any moment. 

Isaac – of course, the werewolf – smelled Allison before he saw her, and Allison ran towards the two of them, a mess of dark curls around her face, dressed in casual, comfortable clothes topped with a black jacket that Lydia knew was probably several pounds lighter than it normally was on account of air travel’s restriction on weapons. Lydia waited for Isaac to pull away from the brunette before she pulled Allison into her own hug, burying her face against Allison’s throat.

The sob that escaped Lydia’s mouth surprised all of them, but she clung to Allison, who readily gripped her back, rubbing her back softly. Something about Allison being here had solidified the seriousness of the situation. Stiles nearly died and was still gone, so far gone that Allison had flown from a different country. “I missed you.” Lydia managed, trying to reel herself back in.

Isaac sidled up to Allison’s back, kissing the side of her head as his hand snuck into her jacket, and discretely deposited a gun into the holster inside of left side panel of the jacket. “I’ll go get your bag from the carousel.” He murmured, stepping away from the women. 

Lydia couldn’t help but laugh, “How fucked are we that in the middle of a crowded airport he wouldn’t even leave us without making sure you had a weapon on you.”

Allison stroked a hand through Lydia’s hair, “Stiles is going to be okay.” She said, with all the confidence of someone who hadn’t seen him in that hospital bed, couldn’t feel the despair that radiated down from their Alpha. “He’s the strongest person I know. He’s gotten us all through so much, he’ll be okay.”

“Scott came to the hospital.” Lydia said, half-annoyed, half-warning. “He heard the distress call and put the pieces together. Derek and the Sheriff threw him out, but he could come back.”

Allison looked at her, nodding, “Thank you for telling me. I’ll be okay, Lydia. It was a long time ago. I’m pretty sure he’s like, werewolf married now.” 

Werewolf married was the pack’s colloquial term for bonded, which, from what Lydia had been able to tell, might have been true. She hadn’t seen Malia’s alpha-mate eye, but she also hadn’t really been concerned with it, too focused on Scott McCall. Isaac returned, carrying two heavy suitcases with the ease of a full-grown wolf, and motioned with his head for Allison and Lydia to follow him back to the car.

Lydia sat in the back on the drive to the pack’s building, letting Allison fill Isaac in on her life in France, where she worked as a supernatural consultant and a firearms, archery, and self-defense instructor for children and young adults. It was a way to put her training to good use, and to some extent, prevent people like them from ever having to exist again. If the next generation could defend themselves, maybe they would deal with less overall heartbreak.

When they got to the building, it was quiet. Peter was the only wolf on the first floor, staring at his laptop and drinking tea at the kitchen island. He greeted Allison cordially and then returned to what he was working on. “They’re upstairs. Derek is having a hard time being away.” He glanced back away from his computer to look at Allison, “Take a shower, wear something of the packs. You smell like a hunter, and I know he’d hate himself if he lost control. Try and make it easy for him, if it’s not too much trouble.” He turned back to his computer. 

Lydia smirked as Isaac led Allison into his bedroom to shower and change and knocked on the Alpha pair’s door before opening it. Lying in the middle of Derek and Stiles’ truly enormous bed was Derek, flanked on either side by Jackson and Cora. Jackson had stripped off his suit jacket and tie, they were hanging over an ottoman. Derek looked mostly asleep, but his eyes opened to meet hers. 

Jackson moved back away from Derek, and Lydia poured herself into the space between the alpha and her husband, pressing a kiss to Derek’s cheek on her way down. They were doing this for Derek’s sake, but they all needed it. The despair was easing in Derek, they could all breathe slightly easier. “Any word from Marian?” She asked softly. 

Cora answered, lifting her head from Derek’s chest, “No, she tried something, and it made her pretty tired. John told me he was there. We sent Faris to back him up. We’ll go back up there this evening.” 

The door opened and Isaac appeared, his jacket and scarf removed. He crawled onto the bed and situated himself against Derek’s stomach, half-between, half-on Cora’s legs. Cora’s hands moved to scratch through Isaac’s hair, and he let out a low, contented grumble. Ten minutes later, Allison knocked on the door and then casually stepped through, wearing a pair of Isaac’s sweats and one of Lydia’s tank tops. Her wet hair was tied up in a bun. “Hi guys.” 

Derek met her eyes, “Welcome back, Allison.” He said softly, “How was your flight?” 

Allison took that as permission to join the pack pile and crawled in on the outside of Cora and Isaac, who reached one arm back to grip at her calf. “It was fine. Longer now that it’s all the way to California.” Allison’s eyes fluttered closed. 

None of them spoke, each of them breathing quietly, holding each other, trying to ignore how empty Derek’s chest looked, the place on top of Derek, next to Lydia, where Stiles belonged. Their advisor, their guide, their protector, their friend, their lover. Lydia took a long breath and moved slowly, crawling half-onto Derek’s chest, like Stiles would, and waited for Derek to throw her off, get mad at her for trying to take his place. There was a part of Lydia that still – years later – waited for Derek to hate her for what she and Stiles had done.

Instead, his arm locked around her back, and his face buried into her hair, and she felt his hot tears on her scalp. Jackson moved closer, kissed the back of her neck in soft understanding. The relationship between Stiles, Derek, and Lydia was complicated, but it was older, deeper, and stronger even than his marriage and bond to Lydia. He knew better than to be jealous of either of the alphas, knew better than to doubt that Lydia meant it when she said she loved him – if she hadn’t, the bond would have failed.

They needed Stiles to come back, all of them, but nobody would challenge that after Derek, Lydia needed him the most.

\--

Hours later, feeling slightly more centered, Derek walked back into the hospital still surrounded by the residual scent of his pack, flanked by Allison and Lydia. Cora had stayed to speak with Peter about his investigation. Jackson had been called away to meet with a client – ever the consummate professional – and Isaac had decided to stay and attempt to get some work done before he became too thoroughly distracted by Allison’s presence. 

John’s face lit up when he saw Allison, and he surged out of his seat to wrap the young woman in a tight hug. “Nobody told me you were coming to town.” He said. “How’s your dad?” 

Allison smiled, “He’s fine. You should really come visit sometime; he’d like that.” She smiled, and then her eyes slipped to Stiles and she took a long, steadying breath before choking back a sob. She moved to touch him, wrapping her hand around his good wrist. 

Everyone in the room understood, remembered the first time they looked at Stiles in the hospital bed, looking impossibly smaller and younger than he was. Derek kissed Stiles’ forehead and turned to Marian, “Cora said you did a spell?” He asked softly.

Marian nodded, “I was able to make contact with Stiles. Magic like that has a price, Alpha, and sadly, I don’t know if I’m strong enough to do it again.”

Faris looked up at Derek, “What she did, I tried to do, but I couldn’t find him. I’m sorry, alpha.” 

Marian placed her hand over Faris’, “Young mage, I’m almost eighty years old. When you’re eighty, you can apologize for not being able to do the things I can do.” She looked back to Derek, “Whatever is happening to Stiles is magical in nature, not medical. He can’t find what it is to break it, and neither could I. He is worried, utmost, about you.” She poked the alpha in the chest. “Did you know about the heart spell?”

Derek looked confused, and Marian continued, “Derek, Stiles did a spell so that in the event of his death, his heart would continue to beat until either his magic burned out, or the entire pack had assembled around him. Now, I’m sure you know as well as I do why Stiles would do that.”

Derek felt his heart in his throat and sat back into a chair – when had so many chairs gotten into the room – and clasped his hands together, nodding. Lydia moved to stroke his back gently. “The mate bond won’t break if his heart keeps beating.” He stared at Stiles, resting on the hospital bed for a long time. “That’s why his heart didn’t stop in the ambulance.”

Marian nodded, “He’s protecting you, wants you to have the best chance at surviving if you lost him. Now, that’s not the cause of his slumber, but he asked me repeatedly to tell you that he loved you. I wanted to make it clear exactly how much _your mage_ loves you, Derek. He loves you enough to ensure he could protect you from the grave.”

Derek sucked in a long breath, nodding. “Thank you.” He said, with tears shimmering in his eyes as he moved to gently take Stiles’ left hand. 

John wiped tears from his eyes, “See, told you he wouldn’t growl.”


	6. New York City, Day -2073

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Derek recover from Stiles' mistake, and complete their bond. Derek and Lydia have a heart to heart. Stiles learns more about where he came from, and apparently supernatural clubs are a thing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is like 1.5 chapters for y'all!
> 
> This chapter deals with the aftermath of chapter 4, and the direction the pack's life goes after that. If chapter 4 was triggering for you in any way, be cautious. Most of what happens in this chapter is open, honest discussion about how everything makes people feel, but it does get discussed! 
> 
> also, I guess an implied potential rape note is needed here. I'll explain at the end.
> 
> Next update is chapter 7, which I'm super excited about, and it'll be up on Wednesday.

Stiles and Derek had talked at length about the mate bonding process that was to come. It was a three-step process – a thrice-forged bond, in love, sex, and blood. Anyone, any alpha, could try to claim Stiles as his own, and force the other two steps of the process, which would sever the love-bond he and Derek already shared. That was what had caused the alpha’s to attack him when he returned to DC. 

Before Derek had left to return to New York, Derek and Stiles had trained, Derek attempting repeatedly to subdue and contain Stiles, and for two days, Derek had failed to leave more than a bruise on the young mage. Content that his mate could defend himself from other alphas, Derek had promised that if Stiles still wanted to complete bond after spending the summer with Derek in New York for the summer, they would. 

That alone had caused a fight. Derek had tried to explain that it wasn’t about age, but that Stiles was tying himself to Derek in a very real and very permanent way. They’d only really been dating for a few months, even though the love-bond was stronger than that. After the third step – the blood transfer, Stiles’ right eye would flare red like Derek’s, signifying him as a human alpha-mate. Derek, in return, would act as a conduit for Stiles’ power, able to wield it to a small extent, when necessary. Their lives would be changed, forever. Stiles was still angry but resigned himself to wait. Derek had made him come four times the day before he left as an apology.

Derek had returned to DC over Stiles’ spring break, and the two explored the city. Stiles introduced Derek to the local alpha, who had loudly praised his wonderful choice in mates. Both of them had blushed hard. They had discussed Stiles’ future, and Derek had thanked the alpha for the protection he’d offered Stiles while he was in the city. The alpha in turn thanked Derek for allowing Stiles to help train their young emissary. The dinner had been nice, reminiscent of how life had been before the fire, and that night, Derek had actually cried when he explained it to Stiles.

Stiles, having already completed enough credits that summer semesters weren’t really a concern, returned to New York for the entirety of the summer. Lydia would be joining them at the end of June, taking an accelerated summer semester so she could have a month of reprieve and relaxation (and Cora). Lydia had popped down for Cora’s graduation but then returned to Boston quickly, still unsure of her place in the pack, pointedly avoiding Derek, and to some extent, Stiles. 

May in New York was rainier than Stiles had imagined it would be. He made it back to New York earlier in the day than intended on Friday, and tucked himself into a window seat in the library, one of the journals Peter had given him for Christmas tucked into his lap. As he wrote the date it caught in his throat. May 15th. Exactly one year ago, he had run from Beacon Hills. He’d known little about magic, the bare minimum about werewolves, and had been searching, searching across the country for a place where he belonged. 

As he closed the journal and looked out at the rainy day below him, he was struck with the fact that what he had been looking for hadn’t been that far after all. For years, Derek had been right beside him, Lydia had been right there. Peter and Cora were extra, unexpected, but they only made each other better. 

“Drive was okay this time?” Derek asked softly, making Stiles jump. He turned to look at his mate and smiled. Derek had started working at a brokerage firm, and today he was dressed in a soft grey suit with a white shirt and a green tie that made his hazel eyes pick up more green. 

“Yeah. You look good, did Peter buy that suit for you?” Stiles crawled out of the window seat and tucked himself into Derek’s arms. He let the wolf nuzzle against his neck, kissing the side of his head as he did.

“Why do you smell sad?” Derek asked softly, pressing a kiss to Stiles’ neck.

“It’s been a year since I left.” Stiles said softly, not offering more than that for a moment, resting against his mate’s chest and appreciating the closeness. “I don’t deserve you.” Stiles said softly, “You’re a born alpha werewolf, the heir of an ancient line of werewolves. I’m just some kid from California who got lucky with magic.” 

Derek had intended to let Stiles speak, but stopped him with a gentle kiss, “That’s not entirely true.” He pressed Stiles back to the window seat gently. “Before I got my job, I had a lot of time to do research.” He ignored Stiles amused smile and cocked eyebrow, “Peter is an asshole, but he’s right. I have always been drawn to you, even before you went on your magical summer vacation.” Stiles barked a laugh.

Derek moved to one of the desks, picking up a book that was left there. “Deaton wasn’t wrong when he called you a spark. It’s not a noun, it’s an adjective, hence why your proper label is ‘spark mage’. It is a descriptor for a magic user –”

“A magic user with power that comes from within, rather than an external source, yeah I know.” 

“Let me finish. It’s a term for a magic user who was born with magic in their blood. Sparks aren’t random, Stiles. They’re not luck, they’re not random, they’re genetic.” 

Stiles mouth dropped open, “My…dad doesn’t have magic.” His lips pressed into a thin line, knowing exactly what Derek was about to say.

Derek flipped the book open to a page, holding it out to Stiles, “No, he doesn’t. But your mother did.” 

Stiles stared at the book, written in Polish with Derek’s handwritten translations scrawled neatly on post it notes. “The Gajos mages. My mother comes from a line of mages?” Stiles sucked in a breath, “Derek.” He swallowed hard, biting back tears, “If my mom was magic how did she just die? From a human disease, why didn’t she stop it?”

Derek nodded, stepping back and folding his arms over his chest, “I asked your dad if he knew that Claudia was magic, and he didn’t. According to him, the first time he had ever heard of magic or magical creatures was when you and Cora tried to explain this world to him. I don’t have an answer to that, Stiles, I’m sorry.”

Stiles closed the book gently, still gripping it tightly, “Can I borrow this?” He asked, and Derek nodded, “Thank you.” Stiles said, “It doesn’t change the feeling that I don’t really deserve you, but I appreciate the work you put into digging up the information.” 

Derek reached out to gently run a hand through Stiles’ hair and kiss his forehead, “We can keep digging, Stiles. If this is important to you, we’ll go anywhere it takes.” 

Stiles leaned into Derek’s touch and his eyes fluttered closed, “I missed you.” He said softly, eyes opening. 

Derek looked down at him with a soft smile, “I missed you too, Stiles.”

\--  
The reason Derek had insisted on waiting until the end of the summer was because he told Stiles that he actually wanted to date him, to spend time with him that wasn’t just running for their lives and plotting how to kill the next thing that came to attack them. He wanted to go to movies and take Stiles to Coney Island and Central Park. He showed Stiles the apartment that he and Laura had lived in, introduced Stiles to werewolves he knew in the city, most of which seemed to have heard rumbles of the Hale pack’s powerful mage. Derek seemed to glow with pride each time.

It felt too good to be true, too perfect. He and Derek spent the time Derek wasn’t at work dating, and while Derek was at work Stiles dug further into the Gajos mages and the magical creatures of Poland. He’d learned that his mother had two sisters who still lived in Poland and sent a letter for them through the Alpha werewolf of the territory that they lived in, requesting contact with them in the only official manner he knew of – as the emissary of a werewolf pack.

The date of Lydia’s arrival felt like it was ticking down in bright, red, angry numerals. Stiles was nervous, afraid that Lydia’s return would shatter the illusion of happiness that had appeared in the Hale house. The guilt ate at him, worsened his anxiety. The last thing he wanted was to lose his best friend, but he had no one to blame but himself.  
\--

Derek was the only one home when Lydia arrived, taxiing from the airport. He was sitting at one end of the dark leather couch in the formal sitting room, mug of tea in his hand, and indicated to the other end of the couch for Lydia to sit. Without saying a word, she swallowed hard and did. 

Derek drew in a long breath, “What happened in December was Stiles’ mistake.” He said softly, “A mistake made in anger and misinformation. But he didn’t make that mistake alone.” Lydia resisted the urge to flinch. “Lydia, I know that Stiles is important to you. I know that you are important to him. You’re also important to other members of this pack, including me.” Derek set the tea mug down, “We can’t keep avoiding each other if you want to stay in this pack.”

Lydia nodded, “I’m sorry. I was just trying to give everyone space, time.” She shrugged, “You’re right, Stiles didn’t do it alone. I should have tried harder to resist, I just…” She drew in a breath, “He’s my best friend, Derek. He’s my best friend and that night he was hurting and I’m not as good as he is at making the hurt go away with words.”

Derek nodded, “He’s doing better now. We found a supernatural therapist he’s been speaking with for several months now. He misses you. And I can tell that you miss him.”

Lydia nodded, “I won’t do it again, Derek. I swear I wasn’t trying to take him from you, it’s a battle I’d lose. I just think that night, I needed someone as badly as he did.”

“Someone who wasn’t Cora?” Derek smirked and then looked out the front window.

Lydia blushed, but nodded, “I love your sister dearly, but we both know it’s not something serious. She’s destined for someone, and I don’t think anyone knows who it is, even her.”

Derek shrugged, “Cora has always done a good job of writing her own story.” He turned his head to look at her, and then nodded, “Someday, you’ll find someone worthy of the great Lydia Martin.” 

Lydia’s eyes flashed with grief, “I thought I had, once. And I don’t mean Stiles.”

Derek studied her for a long moment, “Jackson.” He said softly.

Lydia nodded leaning back against the couch, “There’s a part of me that thinks – hopes even – that one day he’s going to come back to us.”

Derek leaned over, pressing a kiss to her temple, “Jackson is one of my turned betas. If he comes back, he’ll be welcome in this pack.”

Lydia didn’t look up, made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and whispered, “Thank you, Derek.”

\--

Stiles had returned from lunch with Cora to find Derek and Lydia sitting in the kitchen, sharing sandwiches and cups of coffee, smiling like old friend, and he felt a weight drop off of his shoulders as he pulled Lydia into a hug, holding her tightly and meeting Derek’s eyes. The Alpha gave a nod and Stiles mouthed, ‘Thank you’.

Days later, Stiles received a letter in return from one of his aunts in Poland. His hands shook as he opened it, Derek standing over his shoulder. The letter was thankfully written in English, and Stiles laid it out for himself and Derek to read. 

_Mieczysław,_

_When Alpha Kowalczyk approached my sister and I with your letter, it was difficult to believe that you were real. Your mother had a different mother from the two of us, and when Claudia was very young, she took her to America. We heard from Claudia infrequently after that, and then not at all after 2004. We had no idea until her death that she had even been ill._

_Hearing that her magic lives still within a powerful spark mage is heartwarming. Even if you have no children of your own, knowing that Claudia found love and happiness, and had a child as wonderful as you is all that we needed to know to feel at peace with her death. Your letter notes that you’re to be mated to an alpha werewolf, and we hope Mr. Hale provides you with as much happiness as we’re sure your father gave Claudia._

_You asked a very difficult question for us to answer, about why Claudia would allow herself to die from a human disease when she likely had the power to cure herself. Two answers come to mind as possibilities, and one more than the other seems likely, given your own strength, Mieczysław. Word of you has spread even as far as Poland._

_The first explanation, less likely of the two, is that your mother was untrained in her magic. Her mother was not a mage, so Claudia wouldn’t have received the kind of training and guidance that she would have if she had remained in Poland with our father. Given what we know about you, and what we know about Claudia, we believe this to be an unlikely answer._

_To understand the second possibility, you need to understand what Claudia’s mother was. She wasn’t a mage, didn’t have an inherent spark, but she was a visionary. She saw powerful glimpses of the future, and it is likely that Claudia inherited this from her mother. Mieczysław, if your mother saw a glimpse of you in danger in the future, we think it is likely that she may not have died from the human disease that it seemed._

_She may have drained her power into you, Mieczysław. She may have given you the power so that when the time comes, when the vision she saw came to be, you would be strong enough to live. There are risks, one person is not meant to hold the magic of two. It would be difficult to manage. Your bond with your werewolf will ease this, stabilize the amount of magic you may contain._

_We’ve included copies of your mothers’ letters to us, and transcripts of phone calls as best as we can remember. She never mentions you or your father by name, but she speaks of being happily in love, and having a son that she would do anything to protect._

_Her death, Mieczysław, was not your fault. Don’t interpret it as such. If the second explanation is true, and Claudia gave up her powers to you, it was with good reason, and it was a gift. The kind of gift only a mother can give her son. Ask your alpha if he feels guilt in holding an alpha spark that belonged to his family. It’s no different. She died to protect you. She loved you enough to protect you, even in death._

_We wish you happiness and health, Emissary Stilinski. We’ve included more modern ways to contact us as well, and we look forward to learning more about you and your father in time._

_miłość i moc,_

_Maja Mazur (formerly Gajos)._

Stiles wiped tears from his eyes and exhaled hard as he pushed back away from the desk. “So all these years, my father was right.” Stiles licked his lips and let out a tiny, dark laugh, “I did kill my mother.”

Derek shook his head, pulling Stiles into a tight embrace, “If we just read the same letter, I think your aunt specifically told you not to feel like this. I’m sure whatever your mother did was for good reason.” Derek moved so he could see Stiles’ face, “The part about the alpha spark? It shows a really deep knowledge of wolves. And she’s right. If your mother gave her power to you, you should treat it as a gift. I don’t have my mother’s alpha spark anymore, I gave it up, to Cora, to save her, but it was amazing to have even if it wasn’t for very long.” 

Stiles let the tears fall from his eyes as he rested his head against Derek’s shoulder, “I wish she was still here. I don’t even care if whatever big bad creature is going to come for me at some undetermined time in the future. I would give up all of my power if it brought my mother back.”

“Well, last time I checked, Necromancy is a bit darker than the kinds of magic you usually dabble in.” The chuckle that came from Stiles’ chest validated Derek’s joke. “At least now you know. I know that it can feel like a burden, but I know you Stiles.” He kissed his mate’s cheek, “Knowing is better than wondering.”

Stiles nodded, kissing Derek’s lips softly, “I have to send a copy of this to my dad, he deserves to know.” 

Derek nodded, unwrapping Stiles from his arms as the mage grabbed the letter and moved towards the scanner. 

\--

Three weeks before the end of the summer, before Stiles would leave his beautiful, illuminating, painful summer to return to the normalcy of college, Derek had finally asked Stiles if he was ready for them to complete the mate bond. They had finished dinner, and were clearing the table, alone in the house – Peter out on some errand, and Lydia and Cora on a trip to Myrtle Beach for the weekend. 

Stiles stared at Derek for a long time after he asked the question, “After all this, you still want me?” He asked in a tiny voice. 

Derek nodded, his eyes dark as he brought his hands up to frame Stiles’ face. “I never stopped wanting you, Stiles. I just needed to make sure we were both ready. Are you sure you still want me?” He asked softly.

Stiles answered him with a kiss. Derek broke it a moment later with an impossibly huge smile, pulling Stiles towards his bedroom. He started stripping out of his clothes, “We should shower, before and after, probably. But definitely before.” Derek motioned at the chalkboard, and Stiles shook himself out of the trance of watching Derek undress to scrawl runes and power them up.

Before he even turned around, Derek was pressed along his back, completely naked, his face pressed against the hairs at the nape of Stiles’ neck. Stiles leaned back into him and let him push down the athletic pants he’d been wearing, let him pull the T-shirt over his head and then braced himself against the door as Derek started sucking marks into his back.

“Derek.” He groaned, “Remember last year, when you made me come embarrassingly quickly in the library? It doesn’t work much differently at 19, so can we get to the shower and sex portion of the evening before I’m so hard it hurts?” Stiles looked over his shoulder with a smirk.

Derek smiled back and nodded, heading towards the en suite bathroom. Derek very pointedly did not touch Stiles for the duration of the shower and departed before Stiles did to get things ready in the bedroom. Stiles had done a lot of research and did his best to clean himself thoroughly. He’d basically been dreaming – never literally, it was all or nothing when it came to dreams for Stiles – about this day for months. 

When he walked out of the bathroom, still wrapped in a towel, Derek was sitting on the bed, cross legged, still naked. He looked up at Stiles with a softer smile and motioned for him to join him on the bed. Stiles did, kneeling across from Derek, his eyes raking across the slopes and plains of the werewolf’s – his werewolf’s – body. “Sex and then blood.” Derek said softly, pointing to the knife on the night stand, “You’ll need that. Don’t do something stupid like draw a dick, the mark that you make will scar.” 

Stiles scowled at him, but surged forward to kiss him, groaning as his cock – half hard despite both of their attempts – brushed against Derek’s hip, and then cried out his name as Derek rocked up into him. Before Stiles knew what was happening, Derek rolled them over, caging Stiles between his arms as he leaned down, sucking dark bruises in the skin of his neck and shoulder. “Do I get a say in what sexy scar you get to leave me?” Stiles asked, his hands gripping Derek’s hair as the wolf moved to leave a trail of marks down his chest.

“I mean, you get to pick a side, right or left.” Derek looked up with a smirk, “But I don’t use a knife.” He grinned, his fangs lengthening before he went in for more kisses, Stiles shivering at the sharp press of the teeth against his sensitive skin.

“You’re going to bite me? Isn’t that gonna, y’know, cause issues?” Stiles tugged on Derek’s hair and got a groan out of Derek for his effort. 

Derek kissed up the shaft of Stiles’ now hard dick, licking the head with the flat of his tongue, “Aren’t you the magic expert, it’s all about the intention behind the bite, Stiles. You won’t turn.” Derek shut up that line of questioning by sucking Stiles’ cock into his mouth, and Stiles thrusted up briefly before Derek’s arms locked his hips down. The werewolf sucked happily at his mate’s cock, and Stiles moans and the sound of Derek’s name on his tongue grew breathier. “Fuck Der. I’m gonna come if you don’t stop.” 

Derek pulled off his cock with a pop and a smirk, squeezing at the base of Stiles’ cock, staving off his orgasm. “Lube?” Derek asked, and Stiles reached up towards the drawer, the lube meeting his hand half way. He tossed it to Derek, who still looked mesmerized every time Stiles did magic. 

Derek’s first finger slipped in easily, and Derek looked at Stiles accusingly, “Did you finger yourself after I left the shower?” 

Stiles blushed and winked, “I had to make sure I was clean.” Derek crooked his finger to find the younger man’s prostate, and Stiles cried out a curse. Derek was slow, deliberate in his actions as he added fingers, two, and then three, pointedly stopping before Stiles got too close to the edge. When he had three fingers comfortably moving in and out of the mage’s body, he wrapped his other hand around Stiles’ cock, stroked a few times and pushed Stiles over the edge of his orgasm, splattering onto his chest.

Derek pressed long kisses to the inside of Stiles’ thigh as he gave him a moment, still pressing three fingers into him, but careful to avoid his prostate for the moment. When Stiles’ hips stopped stuttering upwards, he moved his fingers again.

“Okay, I feel like I’m having déjà vu.” Stiles said, his face flushed and his hands gripping the bed sheets on either side of his body, “But please, fuck me.” He leaned up slightly, his abs hardening under Derek’s hand as he did, “Make me yours, alpha.” 

There was a tone of submission in the phrase that Derek saw so rarely, it wasn’t an order but a plea, a request. Derek finally gave in, after almost a year of denying him, and surged forward to take his lips, kissing him deeply. “I love you.” He breathed as he spread Stiles legs further, whispering it again as he slicked his own aching erection with the lube, and once more as he lined himself up at Stiles’ hole, “You sure?”

“Please.” Was all Stiles could manage as he tried to shift himself towards Derek’s cock. Derek moved slowly – so slowly, and Stiles fell apart on the bed beneath him. Derek held his weight off of Stiles with one hand and stroked his hip with the other, pressing in slow enough that he was starting to wear at his own control. He moved with shallow thrusts, getting Stiles accustomed to the feeling.

“So much.” Stiles whispered, his eyes on the ceiling. Derek froze and the whiskey-brown eyes snapped down to him, “I meant that in a good way.” Stiles said with a lazy smile, and Derek returned it before pressing the rest of the way in and watching as Stiles’ eyes went wide. Derek leaned forward to kiss his mate, feeling them pressed together as close as they could be. He stroked a hand through Stiles’ hair.

“Fucking move already.” Stiles whined, “Please.” Desperation now, and Derek could feel Stiles hard again between their bodies. He began to move, starting with slow thrusts, and then shifted the angle of Stiles’ hips so he was connecting with his prostate on every stroke, watching Stiles writhe with pleasure beneath him. Feeling his own orgasm coming low in his belly, his balls pulling up tighter to his body, he reached to stroke Stiles closer, holding out until he felt Stiles clench down around his cock, and then letting go.

Stiles felt the hot splashes of Derek’s come inside him, his own orgasm was still fresh, and he reached up to grab for Derek’s face, but Derek’s eyes were alpha red and he had buried his face at the juncture of neck and shoulder. “Right or left.” The voice wasn’t human, and Stiles should have been afraid but he wasn’t. 

“Left.” Stiles said, his voice worn and heavy. “Fuck I love you so much.” 

Derek’s fangs were nothing like the vampires, Stiles decided. They burned when they bit down, cutting through his flesh like paper. Stiles threw his head back as his cock gave a feeble twitch at the sensation, as the scent of iron hit the air, and Stiles remembered he was supposed to be participating in this. He pulled the dagger to him with magic, and waited for Derek to pull his fangs away, pressing the werewolf’s chest up, pressing the blade of the knife into the pectoral muscle over his heart, carving with his own tongue clenched between his teeth. When he was done, he placed his mouth over the wound and was surprised at the taste of the small amount of Derek’s blood that flooded into his mouth before the wound closed, scarring over in an imperfect crescent moon. 

Derek met his eyes, his cock still buried inside Stiles, half-hard despite the best orgasm he’d ever experienced. “Stiles.” He smiled, a really, genuine smile, “Your eye is red.” He flashed his own in response to the red iris of Stiles’ right eye. He reached for the bond and found it, a braided trio of solid bonds, and collapsed against Stiles chest, laughing with a kind of euphoria he didn’t know he’d ever feel again.

Stiles looked at him with amused, sleepy eyes, “Nap now, sap later.” Stiles kissed him, and groaned as Derek pulled out of him. “Nap now, shower later, sap eventually.” He rolled over regardless and settled himself on Derek’s chest, wincing at the still-oozing bite mark on his skin. “Bet I can’t heal that, huh?”

“The wolf blood in your system will help. Give it like two days and you’ll have a scar.” Derek looked down at his own chest, finger tracing the soft ridge of the crecent moon scar. “Thank you.” He whispered.

Stiles kissed his lips, “I love you.” 

Derek returned the kiss, “I love you too.”

\--

After the incident with the Alpha at the human bar, Derek had done some digging and found that there were actually clubs that catered to a crowd of a more eclectic flavor, mostly consisting of magic-users, werewolves, with a few vampires who hadn’t yet grown tired of youthful activities mixed in. Stiles made him swear that they’d go over the summer, after they’d solidified the mate bond and Derek could relax about it being sniped away. Derek had taken a week off of work after the mating, and by the end of it, Cora and Peter had managed to find a witch that sold candles that burned away the scent of sex.

As they stood near the door, each patron being checked for weapons, poisons, and disclosing their names and affiliation to the supernatural, Stiles gave Derek a stern look. “Listen, you wanted to come here. You do not get to be Mr. BooHoo and be all possessive, even if we are mated now. I’m perfectly capable of handling myself.” 

Derek scowled, “I don’t really think it’s our spark mage triple-bonded alpha-mate that I’m going to be concerned about.” He leaned down to kiss the word ‘Liar’ off of Stiles’ lips before he looked pointedly at Lydia, who just smirked, looking up at Cora with a grin.

She turned back to Derek and licked her lips slowly, and brought a finger to them, tapping twice, “Don’t worry, Alpha.” She said, using eyes that Stiles knew would have minimal effect on Derek, but leave most other men desperate, himself included. “If someone touches me any way I don’t want them to, I’ll just scream.” She shrugged and winked at Stiles. Cora laughed beside her, rolling her eyes.

Derek looked content with that answer, and stepped up next to the bouncer, who looked up, “Derek Hale, Alpha Werewolf.” He said, and the bouncer waved him through to step into the warded circle that checked him for weapons. 

Cora followed her brother giving the bouncer an appraising look before muttering, “Cora Hale, Hale pack, Second beta.” She stepped through to the circle and then joined Derek. 

Lydia stepped up next and gave him a charming smile, “Lydia Martin, banshee.” She paused for a moment, looking up at Derek who gave her a small smile and a nod. The forgiveness in the gesture resonated through all of them. “Hale pack, beta rank.” She looked back at Stiles with a truly pleased look as she stepped through, paused in the circle, and then immediately hugged Derek, who was surprisingly willing to reciprocate the affection. 

Stiles tore his eyes away from Derek and Lydia to smile at the bouncer, “Stiles Stilinski, spark mage, Hale Pack Emissary and alpha-mate.” 

“ _And. _” The man scoffed and then cocked an eyebrow at him, “What kind of name is Stiles?”__

__Stiles laughed, winked and flashed his red right eye. “Trust me, you don’t want to write out the real one.” He stepped through without being waved, paused in the circle to read the runes written around it, and looked up at the witch who had cast it. “You drew the rune for silver wrong.” He said with a shrug, “Good thing it’s not as bad as some of these others.”_ _

__The witch narrowed her eyes at him, but begrudgingly held out a piece of charcoal to him. He squatted down, corrected the rune for silver, added a bit of his own power to the circle, and then handed the charcoal to the witch._ _

__“Hey mage.” She called, “Thanks. Your first drinks on me tonight.”_ _

__Lydia looked at him with a crooked eyebrow, “Stiles, the fact that you just used magical knowledge to get a free drink before me is both impressive and sad.” Cora shrugged in agreement._ _

__Stiles just laughed and brushed the charcoal from his hands onto his pants and shrugged, “What can I say, I haven’t lost any of my charm.”_ _

__Derek watched them with amusement and affection and pulled them into the club. The sheer number of werewolves surprised Stiles as the trio found their way to the bar. Half of them were wolfed out, eyes flashing and teeth reflecting the strobing lights. So far, mostly gold eyes with a few alpha’s mixed in, which made Stiles feel better – if minimally. Stiles hadn’t been out much since before he’d left Beacon Hills. He’d certainly never been out somewhere like this, where all of them could just relax and let themselves exist without holding back._ _

__Stiles learned that when mixed in careful proportions, wolfsbane could be added to various kinds of alcoholic beverages to make them actually work on werewolves, and apparently supernatural creatures were flexible about legal drinking ages given that lifespans varied from tragically short to painfully long. An hour and three rounds at the bar later, Lydia was holding her own on the dance floor, dancing between a pair of beautiful beta werewolves. Cora had managed to wrangle a female alpha for a dance partner, and Stiles’ back was pressed against Derek’s chest, the Alpha’s lips sucking marks into his neck that seemed like they would be there when he went back to school at this point._ _

__Derek’s eyes had been red for the last 15 minutes, and Stiles swore that he occasionally felt nips of teeth. “Derek, I want to dance.” He whined, pulling away, using some of his power to break Derek’s hold on him, “Either come dance with me, or I’ll go dance with Lydia.” Stiles regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. “Shit, I’m sorry.”_ _

__Derek’s expression was hard to read, but he waved Stiles off, “I know you didn’t mean it like that. Go dance with her, it’s okay.”_ _

__Stiles, still surprised, stepped into the crowd of bodies, looked at both of the werewolves and then Lydia, who gave him a blinding smile. She stepped towards him and both of the wolves who were dancing with her started to growl. Stiles gave a brief shake of his head, flashed his alpha-mate eye, and held out a hand to Lydia. The wolves decided it wasn’t worth the fight, because they slunk off, and Lydia stepped into Stiles’ space. Stiles was far from a graceful dancer, but he let Lydia’s body guide him and buried his face in her hair as they moved to the music._ _

__It wasn’t long before he felt a warm body press against his back, and he looked up to see Derek, eyes still red and grin a little too feral to be human, pressed against his back. Lydia looked up too, past Stiles’ shoulder to see Derek. This wasn’t a Lydia that many people got to see. Stiles had gone out with Lydia in Boston but even then she hadn’t been this relaxed, this carefree. It took a few minutes for his drunk brain to work out that it was because she felt safe and was probably also feeling the effects of Stiles’ and Derek’s drunken arousal. He and Derek were both exuding lust and contentment. He leaned close to Lydia’s ear, “Are we more or less potent now?” He asked._ _

__She licked her lips and smirked, “According to Cora, she can’t feel your arousal anymore. I envy her, sometimes.” She winked, and then buried her face back into Stiles’ chest._ _

__Stiles stared at Lydia who looked back at the two of them with hunger in her eyes, and now that Stiles knew to look for it, Lydia’s pack bond – black as night – was thrumming with desire, but also a kind of sadness that Stiles couldn’t really work out. Stiles brought a hand from her hip up to her chin, thumb tracing over her lips, her tongue darting out to taste the sweaty skin of his thumb. Stiles wanted Derek forever, they had solidified the threefold bond, but a part of him that had loved Lydia for most of his life was aching for a way to fix that sadness within her. It remembered that night before the new year, the taste and feel of her. He swore after last time he’d never do that to Derek again._ _

__Derek mouthed along Stiles’ neck, licking the shell of his ear in a way that made Stiles shiver and almost moan, “It’s okay.” He said, nodding his chin towards Lydia. “I know you just want to make her happy. Until we find him, she still needs you.”_ _

__Stiles looked up at Derek with confused eyes, “Until we find who?”_ _

__Derek looked at Lydia who had lifted her head off of Stiles’ chest, she swallowed hard, “Jackson.” She said softly, all of them feeling the sadness that rolled off of her just at the name._ _

__Cora dragged herself away from the alpha when she felt the emotions coming from her pack. “Lyds?” She asked, wrapping an arm around the Banshee’s shoulders._ _

__Stiles locked his eyes with Lydia’s, “I’ll find him, Lydia. I promise.” Her lips crashed into his before he could say more, His hands tangled in her hair, and he did moan into her mouth when Derek’s hand gripped harder at his hips, his tongue dragging along the skin of Stiles’ neck, grinding the hard line of his cock into the back of Stiles’ thigh._ _

__When the kiss finally ended, Stiles looked at Lydia, “I will find him.” He said, hand still tangled in her hair._ _

__Lydia looked past Stiles to Derek, whose red eyes met hers. “Thank you.” She said to the Alpha, and then buried herself into Stiles’ chest, letting Cora and Derek guide them away from the club and home._ _

__\--_ _

__Nothing changes immediately after that. Stiles put out feelers, seeking out the explosive werewolf-kanima that had departed from Beacon Hills years ago. The pack falls into easy rhythm, their alpha and alpha-mate stronger, happier, healthier than ever. Cora chose to follow in Derek’s footsteps, and started at NYU in the fall, wanting to stay close to home. Lydia and Stiles departed for their respective schools come August, and returned to New York for the holidays. The pack is stable, the territory is protected by several different packs, it’s the safest year they’ve ever had. Stiles informs them that he won’t be coming to New York for the next summer, and it’s a blow to the pack._ _

__On the two-year anniversary of leaving Beacon Hills, Stiles goes to an internship with the FBI, fulfilling a dream he’d almost given up after all of the illegal shit that happened in Beacon Hills, kept off his record only by the grace of John being Stiles’ father. Stiles goes to Quantico and gets a glimpse of what it’s like to fight crimes that aren’t supernatural, he and Derek perfect phone sex._ _

__As July burned into August, Derek made the trip down to DC to greet Stiles as he returned from his internship, leaning against the Camaro in his apartment’s parking lot, wearing his signature leather jacket and a pair of dark sunglasses. Stiles stepped out of the car and leaned up immediately to kiss him, but Derek pressed him back with a hand, holding up a single finger. He fumbled into his jacket for a minute and Stiles’ face flushed immediately._ _

__He half expected Lydia to jump out of the bushes with a camera, but instead, Derek just dropped down onto one knee like a fucking storybook prince, “Two years ago, I asked you to be my emissary, and you agreed without hesitation – ”_ _

__“Actually I –”_ _

__“Can I finish, please.”_ _

__“Yeah sure,” Stiles was laughing, tears forming in his eyes._ _

__“Last year, you became my mate. It feels right, now, for us to complete our own kind of threefold bond, so, Stiles, will you marry me?” Derek opened the ring box, and Stiles was already grasping forward for the ring._ _

__“You had to do this in public and make it impossible for me to turn you down, huh.” Stiles winked and held out his shaking left hand for Derek to slip the ring on._ _

__Derek stood up, looking smug, “I knew you were going to say yes.” He said, pulling Stiles in for a searing kiss._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The way that someone might "take" Stiles from Derek would be through rape - they'd have to force the sex and blood portions of the bond.


	7. Sacramento, day 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Realizing that the human doctors can do no more for Stiles, Derek makes the final decision to move Stiles back to the den so that nobody freaks out if magical creatures of varying persuasions show up to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay!! Lets talk some warnings and triggers for this update.
> 
> 1\. I know approximately fuck all about how hospital policies work. I wanna say that the next of kin / medical power of attorney has the right to refuse care for a patient, but I might be making that up. There's no way to know.
> 
> 2\. tw for: blood, intentionally causing another pain, and a kind of vicious magical healing. I'll detail more at the end because it's spoilers. It's really minor by teen wolf's standards (See: Them nearly cutting Derek's arm off in season 1) but I want to warn for it anyway.
> 
> This episode is an angst fest!!! enjoy.

Lupe looked around as he sat in the study of the American Queen of the Elves. He examined the dark wooden shelves and at the paintings that dotted the walls. The dark, cherry wood desk sat prominently at the top of the room, facing a black leather couch that was flanked on each side by two tall, cherry wood chairs. Lupe had been in this room a number of times, but never when someone was sitting in one of the cherry wood chairs.

Those, he was told, were used when the visitor was condemned to die, so they didn’t ruin the couch. Elves could kill with magic, and command magic, but were well trained with hand-to-hand combat and weapons, both close- and long-ranged. An elven execution was rare, there were few enemies of the elves, but they preferred to do it physically, as to not taint their magic.

He spun as the door cracked open and a tall, black haired woman in a well-fitted silver business suit stepped into the room. He bowed his head. “My Queen.” 

The Queen looked at the Lupe for a long time. “You know, breaking into the office of the queen of the elves isn’t very smart, my dear.”

Lupe grinned, “Well, mother, I suppose I’ll have to beg for your forgiveness.” He stepped forward to embrace her, and then pulled away, “I’m afraid I’m not here for a social visit.”

The Queen studied her son, “Peter?” She asked, softly.

“Worse, if you can believe it.” Lupe said with a shaky breath. “It’s Stiles.”

His mother froze. “Is he dead?” 

“No, blessed be. He lives in an eternal slumber. The sorceress from Nevada, Marian, she was able to reach him deep in the magic, but even he had no idea what was causing it. I know that you’re still mad that I left to be with Peter, but I’m here as both a son, and as an ambassador. I’m here to ask for help for my packs alpha-mate, and for my friend.”

The Queen nodded, “I’ll order tea, and you’ll give me all the details you have.”

\--

The doctor studied the tense man before him, black hair disheveled, clothes wrinkled as if they’d been worn for days, “We need to perform a brain scan, Mr. Hale. We need to assess his chances of waking up. I don’t want you to hold onto false hope.” 

Derek clenched his fists, “He’s going to wake up. He just needs time. He doesn’t need the scan.” 

“And you feel you have someone who can take care of him adequately?” The doctor asked pointedly, “I’m not sure you understand what taking care of a comatose person truly entails, Mr. Hale.”

Derek clenched his teeth and took a long breath, “We’ll be hiring a private doctor to take care of him in the privacy of our home. I’m his husband. Unless you can tell me there’s something medically that requires him to stay in the hospital, I’m bringing my husband home.”

The doctor shook his head, sighing, “We’ll run some tests to be sure he’s stable enough to be moved.” He walked down the hallway, reeking with annoyance.

Derek turned to step back into the hospital room. He looked at the Sheriff, “So that was only partially a bluff.” He said to his father-in-law with a sheepish smile. “Stiles needs to come home because we’re going to have to keep contacting magical healers. It’s been three days and Marian’s gotten nowhere.”

John nodded, “Okay, which part was the bluff?”

Derek wrapped his arms around his chest, “I don’t suppose you know of any doctors nearby that could actually help us take care of him at home. We haven’t been here long enough for us to have made those kinds of contacts. The only people that get hurt are Stiles, Lydia, Lupe and Faris, and they usually just heal each other. Lydia just hates doctors.”

The Sheriff looked away from Derek, eyes glittering dangerously, “I’ve got someone in mind, but you’re uh….not gonna like it.”

Derek froze, “Not Deaton.”

John shook his head, “Not Deaton.” He glanced at Stiles and then back to Derek, “Melissa.”

Derek brought his hands to his face, “Is she in Scott’s pack?”

John smirked, “Scott doesn’t really like to have non-magical humans in his pack, I think there’s only one and it’s because he’s dating one of the pack members. He’s a bit like Stiles…really.” 

“So no.”

“No.” 

“Perfect. If she can come without telling her son, I’ll take what I can get.”

John shrugged, “I’ll go give her a call. Are you sure about this, Derek? You’re really sure that he’s going to be okay if we move him?”

Derek nodded, “Once he’s out of the hospital, between Faris and Marian, they can probably heal anything that might be life threatening. Once Lupe gets back, he can help. He’s suffering more because he’s here.”

\--

Maricella looked over the documents, notes from Faris, Marian and Lupe, along with a full copy of Stiles’ medical chart. It had been hours and she and Lupe were no closer to finding an answer. Her eyes fell to the notes about scratches in his wrist, and a comment from Lupe that Derek could still feel power in the runes. “Lupe, these runes, do you have a picture of them?”

Lupe frowned, pulling out his phone and scrolling back up in the pack chat, finding where Derek had taken a close picture of the runes scratched into Stiles’ wrist. He handed the phone to his mother, “They’re not healing. They haven’t healed even a bit since Derek found him. It’s been six days at least, and even for a human, that’s slow.”

The Queen studied the runes for a few minutes, her features slowly contorting from worry to amusement. She took out a pad of paper and a pen, drawing two sets of runes before passing it to Lupe. The two sets were very similar but differed by one small feature. “You studied your runes, Lupe. What do these runes mean?”

“Well, the top one is dreamless sleep, Stiles uses that set all the time.” Lupe said immediately, he paused, tracing over the second set of runes on the page. “The second set is …. unending? or endless sleep…” He hastily grabbed the phone and compared the two. He sat back in the chair, pushing his hair out of his eyes and met his mothers gaze. “Can they be removed?”

The Queen folded her hands, smirking, “Not by yourself. There are a few ways it could be done. It could require several powerful healers. You, Marian, and one more.”

Lupe smiled widely, looking up at his mother, “I don’t suppose you know another one of those.” 

The Queen sighed deeply. “I guess we’re going to California. Myself, Marian and you should be enough if we have to do it the harder way.”

“What’s the easy way?” Lupe asked.

Maricella took a long look at her son, “There is no easy way, just hard and harder. How strong is your alpha’s control?”

Lupe considered the question, “Usually, he’s the most controlled werewolf I’ve ever known. Recently, without Stiles, without his anchor, the pack has been concerned.”

“The hard way would require Derek to reign that control in long enough to remove the runes.”

Lupe cocked his head to the side, “Derek can’t really wield magic, Mother.”

“Not with magic, Lupe.” Maricella sighed loudly, “With his claws.”

\--

Lydia stared at Derek with murderous green eyes, “So we’re moving Stiles from his perfectly safe hospital to the den, and the medical professional you’ve chosen to take care of him is none other than Melissa McCall. Melissa McCall who is the mother, may I remind you, of Scott McCall, the person who almost singlehandedly ran Stiles out of Beacon Hills? And the point of all of this is so that we can have a bunch of supernatural healers come into our den, and try and fix Stiles?”

Derek nodded. “Do you have a better idea? Lydia, I know how hard it is for you to be in a hospital.”

Lydia paced the length of the living room for a minute before collapsing onto the couch, “No.” Jackson reached over to rub her back. “If we were in New York, we’d have options, I guess now that we’re back, they’re limited.”

“I guess between Dr. Deaton and Melissa, at least we went with the actual human medical professional.” Isaac said from behind his laptop, seated on a recliner. “Hey, do any of you know where Allison went?”

“Allison went to Beacon Hills.” Derek said. Lydia, Jackson and Isaac’s heads all snapped to Derek, and Isaac closed his computer with a loud click. Derek looked between the three of them, “Listen, we’re a little short on non-pack friends right now. The Sheriff was going to go, but it would have been too obvious, and we don’t want the McCall pack to be able to track us here. Allison is well trained and discrete. She’s not pack so she doesn’t have to announce her presence. She’s human, and Faris helped to cover her scent.” 

“This is a terrible plan.” Isaac said, “If Scott gets one iota of information about Allison being back in Beacon Hills, let alone that we’re bringing his mother of all people to Sacramento, we’re all screwed.”

Lydia turned around, “Isaac, aren’t you the person who told Malia that Derek’s pack was in Sacramento.” 

Isaac looked away. “It’s Malia. How was I supposed to know why she was still in California?”

“First of all, you’re a werewolf. You could have smelled her mate on her. Second of all, why else would someone stay in California, dumbass?” Jackson rolled his eyes. He looked at Derek, “Who knows that Allison went to Beacon Hills to get Melissa?”

“The pack, Allison, and the sheriff.”

Jackson sat back, content, “If Melissa doesn’t know ahead of time that it’s Allison, she can’t tell Scott and it should work out fine.” 

\--  
Allison parked in the driveway of Melissa McCall’s house and with an uncharacteristically shaky hand, hit send on the phone she’d been given. It rang twice, and then immediately went to voicemail. A few moments later, Melissa McCall dragged a suitcase from her front door, put it in the trunk, and then climbed into the passenger seat of the car. She stared at Allison with wide eyes as she put on her seatbelt and Allison backed out of the driveway, heading as quickly as she could for the shortest route to Sacramento and out of Beacon Hills.

“Nobody uh, mentioned that you were going to be the one picking me up.” Melissa said softly.

Allison’s lips were pressed tightly together, “I’m not pack.” She said, carefully watching her surroundings for anyone who might try and follow them, “So I could come, take you, and not have to report to Scott or Deaton.” 

Melissa nodded, staring straight ahead, “How is uh, how is Stiles?” 

“Stiles is alive.” Allison said, giving a small smile, “The doctors wanted to run EEG’s and do a bunch of tests and It just….it wouldn’t have showed anything that made any sense. Stiles is essentially healthy aside from his physical wounds. He’s just…sleeping.”

“And um…who else is going to be there, that I know? Anyone I should know about before I just walk into a den of wolves, literally?”

“Well, Peter’s still alive.” Allison said with a chuckle before she grew serious. “Um, Isaac.”

Melissa sucked in a deep breath, “Oh.” 

“Yeah he’s doing really well. He’s a social worker now. He’s – everyone really, except Jackson – taking some time off until this whole thing with Stiles gets resolved.”

“What about you, Allison?” Melissa asked softly, “What do you do?”

“Oh, well, I still live in France full time. I’m just here to help.”

Melissa thought carefully, “If there’s something threatening werewolf packs, bad enough that Stiles is unconscious and that you flew all the way here from France, I have to warn Scott. You do understand that?”

“I’m sorry, Melissa.” Allison sighed, licking her lips and reaching to turn on the radio, “I’m not authorized to tell you anything more than what I have. If you want more information, you’ll have to talk to Cora, Peter or Derek.”

\--

Derek stepped into the hospital hallway and looked at Peter expectantly, “I’m a little busy, at the moment. You said this was important.”

Peter nodded, “Lupe called. He’s coming back, they’ll be here tomorrow.”

Derek cocked an eyebrow, “They?”

Peter smirked, “Ah, yes, The American Queen of the elves herself is coming to Sacramento, and according to Lupe, they think she knows how to fix Stiles.”

Derek let out a low, shaky breath, nodding quickly, blinking away tears as a rolling tide of hope flowed over him, “How in the hell did Lupe convince the queen to come?” 

Peter’s smirk faltered, “Oh. Stiles never told you.”

Derek’s gaze hardened, “Stiles never told me what?”

“Derek, Queen Maricella is Lupe’s mother.”

Derek blinked a few minutes, “Lupe is a prince. And none of you felt the need to inform me of this?”

Peter shrugged, “Stiles knew. Lupe _was_ a prince. Technically, by joining the pack he renounced his title.”

Derek held up a hand, “We’ll discuss this later. Go home and make sure everything is ready for Stiles’ arrival and apparently, the Queens.” Peter departed, passing Melissa and Allison as they walked. Derek didn’t miss Melissa’s head turning to watch him walk. “Any problems?” He asked Allison.

“As far as I know it went flawlessly. I didn’t see anyone follow us out of town.” She gave Derek a nod, patted his shoulder, and stepped into the hotel room.

Melissa McCall looked up at Derek with a stern gaze, “Derek, I’m here because John asked me to be, and because it’s Stiles. Scott is still my son. If there is something out there that is a threat to werewolves, I can’t just keep it from him.”

Derek nodded, “Right now, we have no reason to believe that there are threats to packs beyond our own. The minute that changes, I’ll make sure you’re the first one to know. It’s probably best if the information comes from you, at least Scott believes what you say, I doubt he’d listen if it came from me or Stiles.” The dig was there. It slipped out of Derek’s mouth before he could stop it. 

Melissa flinched, nodding, moving to step past Derek into Stiles’ hospital room. She paused, and turned to look at Derek, “A lot has changed, Derek. Scott isn’t the kid he was back then, and he’s not the alpha he was back then either.” She patted his shoulder and then stepped into the room to embrace John.

The doctor explained to Melissa, Derek, Allison and John about the continued care that Stiles would need, nothing more than Melissa had dealt with before. He discretely slipped Melissa a card of a long-term care facility, looking at her knowingly, glared at the back of Derek’s head, and stepped out of the room.

“He doesn’t like you.” Melissa said to Derek with a small grin, “What did you do to piss off one of the best trauma surgeons on the west coast?”

Derek gave Melissa an unsettling smile, “I refused further care for his patient.” Derek looked at John, “Will you and Melissa be okay during the transport? Jackson and Faris will follow at a safe distance. Allison is staying with you as protection.”

“Where are you going, Derek?” John asked, “I think we can handle this, but I’m a bit surprised you’re letting me.” 

Derek ran a disgruntled hand through his hair, “I need to go make sure everything is ready at the den. For Stiles’ arrival and for our apparent Royal Visit tomorrow. Lupe is apparently bringing his mother to Sacramento. His mother who is the queen of the Elves.”

Allison giggled, “Stiles never told you, huh?” 

Derek glared, “Did everyone know?” Allison just smiled sheepishly. “Whatever, I’ll deal with this if we wake him up.” He froze at his own words, mouth dropping open as he closed his fist tightly, blood dripping from his hand as his breathing grew ragged. His eyes glinted as he fought for the control that he was rapidly losing as he warred with himself over the thought of Stiles failing to wake. 

Allison stepped forward but John pushed her back gently with one hand. He stepped quietly forward and placed a hand on Derek’s chest, directly over the mate-mark, tapping it lightly with a single finger. “When we wake him up.” He said, quietly, meeting Derek’s red eyes and sighing with relief as they bled back into hazel.

Derek looked at the Sheriff, nodded, choked out a sob and turned to leave the room quickly.

Melissa watched the whole encounter through wide, observant eyes. “John, did you just walk up to an alpha who was slipping his leash and touch him?”

John shrugged one shoulder, “I can’t say that I blame him for losing it a bit. Derek’s a good man. He loves my son, and above all else, I’m still Stiles’ father. Hurting me isn’t even something Derek would consider.”

Allison looked at Stiles, “I just hope Stiles wakes up soon. Without him, on a full moon, there’s no one who would be able to hold Derek back if his control slipped.”

Melissa thought for a moment, “Actually, yes, there is. We could call Scott--” 

Allison turned quickly, “No.” She said immediately, eyes burning daggers into Melissa. “Scott does not find out about this. Not one word about Stiles’ condition, or about Derek, or about anything you’re about to see. I will have my own supernatural doctor on a plane from France in two hours if you can’t manage this.”

Melissa held up her hands, looking to John for support but he just sighed and looked at Stiles. “Let’s just focus on waking him up. The full moon is weeks away. If he’s still gone for weeks, we’ve got bigger problems, namely, Stiles’ employer breathing down our neck.”

\--

A guest room on the first floor had been modified by Lydia and Isaac as a care room for Stiles. The floor was dark wood, and they’d acquired a hospital bed and various monitors. At the edges of the room were two couches, and a small table for the instruments and various tools anyone – medical or magical – might need. If they managed to wake Stiles up quickly, the room would serve as a set for the charade they’d have to pull off until Stiles’ injuries would be fully healed by human standards. If they didn’t wake him up, it would be his home until they did.

Lydia crossed her arms and surveyed the room. “Isaac.” She called softly. The wolf appeared a minute later, “What does it smell like in here.”

Isaac took a drag and thought for a moment, “Like the new equipment, and leather.”

Lydia nodded, “Let’s go get all the throw pillows from the den and the living room, and swap out the pillow on the hospital bed for whichever one smells the most like Derek.”

As they returned from collecting things that smelled like Pack, they found Derek in the room, staring at the hospital bed. Lydia set the throw pillows down as Isaac set Derek’s pillow on the bed, neither saying anything for the moment. Once they completed their task, Isaac stepped forward, pulling Derek into his chest and stroking softly through his hair. Lydia could see the tears of frustration. She tucked herself against the Alpha’s side, rubbing his back in small circles.

“Lydia, can you make sure one of the guest rooms is up for a Royal visitor?” Derek asked softly. 

Lydia nodded, “Cora is already working on it. Marian offered to help, she wants to stay for the Queen’s visit anyway. Lupe sent us a suggestion list for foods to have around the house, and Peter is out getting the magical items that were on the list.” Lydia stepped back, “If the queen is coming, that has to be good sign Derek. He’s going to come back.”

\--

Once the medical transport arrived, and Stiles was settled into his hospital-away-from-hospital bed, Marian wandered downstairs to help, with Faris standing by to begin healing. As Melissa stripped off the hospital gown from Stiles, she stared at the scarred bite on the left side, between his neck and his shoulder. “Is Stiles a werewolf?”

Marian let out a warm, pleasant laugh, “No, dear. Werewolves don’t usually scar. That’s Stiles’ mating bite.”

Melissa raised an eyebrow, “Mating bite?”

Marian sighed, “It’s an ancient werewolf tradition. Derek and Stiles mated a long time ago. If you want more information, you’ll have to ask one of them. Or possibly the young banshee, as I’m sure she has one of her own.” Marian reached over to pull the gauze bandage from Stiles’ gunshot wound, mostly sewn closed leaving a small, circular burn on Stiles’ pale skin. 

Marian looked at Faris, “Can you heal this, mage? If Maricella is coming, I should probably save my strength to help with what must be done tomorrow. The rest of the healing, the broken bones, can wait for their arrival.”

Faris studied the wound carefully and pressed his hand gently over it. Part of him waited for Stiles to flinch from his touch, from the pain, but he didn’t. He looked up at the young mans face, and then to Marian, “There was a lot of internal damage. I can fix the inside or close the outside. I’m sorry, I’ve been handling a lot of the warding since he—” Marian placed a hand on Faris’ shoulder. 

“Heal the inside.” Marian said softly. “You’re taking the place of a very powerful mage. Stiles doesn’t have to think about draining himself the way you or I do. I doubt very much that Stiles has ever reached the bottom of his magical reservoir. Do what you can. Lupe can help tomorrow.”

“Stiles is that powerful?” Melissa asked softly, watching as the mage closed his eyes and began whispering in a language Melissa didn’t understand. 

Marian looked at Melissa briefly and then shook her head, laughing quietly to herself. “Stiles is a strong, respected mage. He could do things that even I would struggle to do, and make it look easy. It would be good for you to remember that.” 

\--

Lupe and the Queen, along with two additional guards arrived before the sun rose the next morning. Lupe let himself into the building and showed his mother and her guards to the rooms that the pack had prepared for them. He wandered down, finding the room that Stiles slept in, unsurprised to see red eyes jump out from the dark as he entered, holding up a hand and flashing silver eyes at Derek, who rolled off of the couch to stand, reaching out to touch Lupe’s shoulder, “So you’re a prince?”

Lupe smiled at the alpha, “I used to be. I gave it up to join your pack, to be with Peter. There’s a part of me that is the antithesis of him. I never wanted the power, the responsibility. I just wanted to exist, to be my own person. It’s hard to do as an elf. Too many packs would have taken me in, but only to use me.” Lupe nodded to Stiles, “With him here, I knew that I would be treated fairly, like an individual. Your pack is different, Derek. And it’s a good thing.” 

Derek hugged him briefly, and turned to Stiles, “Your mother thinks she can fix this?”

Lupe nodded, “She seems confident. Amused, even. If she’s right, and she can fix it, then I’ll be amused too.”

“Amused about what?”

Lupe licked his lips and moved to the bed, pointing to the gauze on Stiles’ wrist. “Amused about the fact that the person who put Stiles into this state, was Stiles himself.”

\--

Once the household was awake, Peter and Lydia had placed a spread of breakfast across the formal dining room, and the Pack, Allison, John, Melissa, Marian, and Queen Maricella and her guards took turns at the main table eating. Peter and Marian chatted animatedly with the queen and Lupe, while the rest of the pack just waited for more information. Overall, the atmosphere, once the elves had arrived, had been calm, rather than tense, and there was a part of Derek that wondered if that wasn’t intentional, magical. Regardless, he didn’t mind.

Once the Queen had finished eating, she looked at Derek, who nodded, and the two stepped out of the room towards the room that housed Stiles. Maricella moved immediately to his left side and pulled the gauze off of his wrist, examining the wounds closely, her fingers tracing them, a small smile on her lips. “Derek, the runes that Stiles attempted to inscribe were done incorrectly.” She looked up at him with the same silver-blue eyes that Lupe had, “Stiles is a powerful mage, as you’re well aware, and he clearly intended for these runes to last the duration of his containment.

They aren’t healing because he doesn’t want them to heal, and it’s a safe bet he’s guarded them against their removal as well. He probably didn’t even realize that carving them into imperfect skin with a shaky hand, causing himself pain, would leave him open to this sort of thing. There’s a reason we dissuade mages from tattooing runes – it’s too easy to make mistakes.”

Derek nodded, “But you can remove them.” 

The Queen looked back down at Stiles, “I could certainly try, and I will if that’s what it takes. But you, Derek. You could remove them. You are a conduit for Stiles’ magic, the protector of the magic that Stiles’ own body struggles to contain. If you were the one to remove the runes, Stiles’ magic would not fight it, because you are his mate. The magic recognizes you as one who would do no harm.”

Derek thought for a moment, “This sounds like there’s a catch. It seems too easy.”

“There is a catch.” Lupe walked into the room, with Marian beside him. “When she says remove, Derek, she means physically.” He grabbed one of Derek’s hands, “Physically scrape away the runes, as deep as they go, with your claws.”

Derek stepped back, pulling his hand away and clasping them together, nodding as the realization dawned on him, “I have to hurt him.” He said, drawing in a deep breath through his nose as he pressed his hands over his mouth. “Will he heal? After they’re scraped off?”

“Naturally, slowly.” Marian offered, “Possibly faster if he’d be willing to accept some of your blood. There’s a reason that Alphas are more strongly inclined not to hurt their mates, and it’s because the wounds of an alpha resist healing by magic.”

Derek stared at Stiles for a long time. “Okay.” He reached over to run a hand through Stiles’ hair, and press a kiss to his lips, “I’ll do it, but I need to tell everyone what is happening. I’m sure the pack will feel it, and I’ll need other wolves in the room in case I start to slip.” The ‘or if I fail’ went without saying. 

Derek and the three magic-users walked back to the dining room where Derek cleared his throat, all eyes in the room snapping to him. He motioned to Maricella, who gave a polite smile and then began to explain what she had just told Derek. Jackson, the only other mate-bonded wolf looked a bit green when she explained that it would have to be Derek who removed the runes, his eyes darting to Lydia and his hands clenching. 

Once Maricella finished, Derek spoke, “Jackson, Isaac, Cora, I want the three of you in the room. I don’t know what doing this will do to me, and I might need the muscle. Peter, you and Faris are on patrol duty Each of you take one of Maricella’s guards with you for backup. Melissa, Stiles will heal slowly from this, and this cannot be healed magically, I’d like you to be there to disinfect both my claws before we begin, and the wound once I’m done. Allison.” She turned to look at him. “Do you have something that can take down an Alpha?” 

She swallowed hard, and then nodded, “Derek you won’t…”

“You’ll be here to make sure I don’t.” He turned to the last two people, “John, Lydia.” His voice cracked as he spoke, “This isn’t going to be pretty. I don’t know how far into it Stiles is going to wake up, how much pain I’m going to have to cause him. I’ll give you the choice of staying or going.”

Lydia stood, “I’m staying. I’ll go get clean towels.”

John stared at Derek for a long time. “I’ve abandoned my son enough times, I think. I’ll stay as well.”

\--

Lupe held up the paper that he’d printed the image of Stiles’ wounds, and pointed, “The safest bet is to remove the right most rune first. It’s the rune that’s endless, or unending. Once that’s gone, the runes that are left are just for ‘deep’ and ‘sleep’, so at that point, we risk the pain waking Stiles. The alternative is less predictable, and I’m not keen to find out what would happen if we left just the rune for unending.” 

Derek nodded, breathing shakily as he stared at the claws on his hand, dripping from the alcohol that Melissa had used to douse them. Cora was to his immediate right, bracing her hands above and below Stiles’ elbow. Maricella and Lupe had already repaired the broken collar bone and the bones in his arm and removed the cast. Cora was there both to pull pain and brace against him moving and Derek cutting too deep. Isaac and Jackson stood a few feet back, each beta-shifted, ready to grab Derek if it was required of them. 

Lupe stood at the foot of the bed, Maricella and Marian on the far side, Marian’s hand pressed against Stiles’ forehead. Maricella’s hand hovered over the gunshot wound, and Derek suspected that if they uncovered Stiles’ torso, they’d find it completely healed now. 

Derek took a deep breath and his eyes flared red as he brought the claw to Stiles’ wrist. His wolf was screaming internally, and it took every ounce of self-control Derek had to make the first cut, carefully shaving off a few layers of skin over the first rune. It wasn’t deep enough, and his hands shook as he continued shaving down the skin, blood – his mate’s blood – trailing down his fingers. They knew when he got deep enough, because Stiles screamed.

Derek tore his hands away and tried to back up, but Jackson and Isaac boxed him in. Stiles’ eyes were wide and his scream had cut off as black lines drew up Cora’s arms, but the runes still imprinted into his wrist were readily returning him to his slumber. Marian was whispering, close to Stiles’ ear, explaining the situation as quickly as she could and he nodded, brown eyes jumping to Derek just before they fell closed. 

“I can’t.” Derek said, “I can’t.” He was panting, the wolf pushing for control, trying to force his body away from his mates, not understanding why he was causing his mate pain. 

Jackson’s claws sank into Derek’s shoulder, and Derek cried out, half roaring at the pain. “Yes, you can.” He said into Derek’s ear as Isaac’s claws sank in on the other side. “Pain makes you human.” Jackson gave a small smirk, “Finish it.”

Derek nodded, closing his eyes for a moment before moving back to the bed. He looked at Cora who nodded, her arms locking Stiles’ wrist down before Derek scraped again, careful to move quickly, removing the second rune in the series with a single, exact slice as Stiles nearly sat up with another scream, biting down on his own lip. His wrist twitched limply in Cora’s grasp, relaxing when the black lines returned up Cora’s forearms.

Derek’s wolf howled, and Derek went to back away again when he heard Stiles’ voice, “Finish it, Derek.” He turned to Stiles whose eyes were drooping again, mouth pressed into a thin line, face tight with pain, blood dripping from the open wound on his wrist. The wolf had heard it’s mate’s voice too, and quieted just enough for Derek to surge forward and pull the last of the runes away from Stiles’ skin, the mage’s eyes flying open abruptly as he breathed hard. 

Derek stepped back, wrenching his shoulders out of his Beta’s grasps and backed all the way to the wall, sliding down it, staring at the hand covered in his mate’s blood as Melissa took his place to clean and bandage the now open wound on Stiles’ wrist. He could hear people talking, but was only listening for one thing. Stiles’ heart was beating, fluttering, awake, alive. Derek retracted his claws and looked up, accepting a warm, wet towel from Lydia, whose green eyes shone with tears. There was such a relief from the entire pack that it almost quieted Derek’s own guilt.

“Derek.” Stiles’ voice sounded stronger, if a bit gruff. Derek stood quickly, moving to Stiles’ bedside and gazing down at him. Stiles eyes, whiskey brown and shining with love met his own, Stiles’ right hand crossed over to touch Derek’s chest, placed over the top of the mate mark, the same way that the Sheriff had the other day. (Derek’s mind suddenly supplied that John had probably figured out what to do by watching his own son). “Thank you.” Stiles said softly, tugging at the front of Derek’s shirt as the alpha obliged him and leaned in to kiss him.

Jackson had finished wiping his hands and broke the silence that had entered the room, “So how long do we have to wait before we can make fun of Stiles for putting himself into a magical coma?”

Stiles reached past Derek to flip off Jackson, and the room burst into laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blood/pain warning:
> 
> The healing they have to do to get Stiles out of his coma involves Derek actually physically cutting into Stiles with his claws, and it's a bit graphic but necessary.
> 
> also, I'm thinking once I'm done that I might just post a series of PWP's in this verse because honestly, there's a lot of sex scenes that I want to have happen, but after the fiasco about how I handled chapter 4 originally, I'm a bit nervous. Regardless, sex does happen in this pack, and kind of a lot, but given the amount of angst and worry flying around, it doesn't actually fit to just throw sex in there except for where it's necessary (IE: Stiles and Derek bonding.) 
> 
> If that's something you'd be into, let me know. I have a Stiles/Lydia/Derek written already that was supposed to go in Chapter 6 before I rewrote chapters 4 and 6 with 500% more feelings and realized it was too soon. It's kinda floating around. 
> 
> Fun fact, the word document for this fic is titled: why am I this way
> 
> Happy Wednesday!!
> 
> Edit: to be clear, it's just extra shit that I want to write in this verse. It's not going to be necessary at all that you read it to have the rest of the story make sense. <3


	8. New York City, Day -985

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Lydia finish up college, the pack grows with the addition of an unexpected member, and Stiles keeps his promise to Lydia.
> 
> Also there's a game of never have I ever because I'm a SUCKER for that shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think there's only this chapter, and then two more of the "past" before we're firmly planted in the future!! 
> 
> I'm like four chapters (12, 14, 15, and the epilogue) away from being done writing this monster of an idea that literally stated from me listening to Kiss it Better by He is We and the image of Derek holding Stiles while he "died" popped into my head. 
> 
> literally that's all I knew when I started writing. Over the course of writing I finally watched seasons 4-6, so some things have shifted a bit, but on whole, I'm happy with how the story came together.
> 
> When I get the whole thing done, I'll start a new chaptered fic that is literally just going to be sex scenes from this verse. This story has enough going on without me actively working in the blatant pack polyamory that I have in my head. So, you see glimpses of it, but I'll keep the rest of the explicit stuff for the PWP collection. 
> 
> Enjoy!!

_{London, Day -1258}_

“Stiles, where the fuck are you?” Derek sounded panicked, “What number is this? Did you get kidnapped?”

Stiles rubbed his eyes, “Derek, stop. I’m fine. I’m in London, I’m only going to be here for a few days at most. If Lydia asks, I’m in Poland and I’m out of cell service.”

Derek froze, understanding slowly, “You found him.”

“I found him. I’ve already been in contact with the alpha here, I have permission to be in the territory, and they’ve given me an emissary-in-training to help me navigate the city. Jackson hasn’t officially joined the pack, so they only sort of know where he is, but it’s enough for me to find him. I love you, I’ll be home soon.”

“I love you, be safe.” 

Stiles hung up, looking up at the light-brown skinned, dark haired man as he handed back his phone, “Thanks for that. Alpha’s, man, so overprotective. The last thing I needed was to call from my own phone and have our wicked smart banshee try and track me. If I can’t find this werewolf, or if he doesn’t want to come back, she can never know I was here.” 

The other man – Faris – laughed and nodded. “Our alpha-mate isn’t anything like you.” The pair headed from Stiles’ hotel room towards the city center.

Stiles shrugged, “Most alpha-mates aren’t like me.” He smirked, “Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?”

Faris held up his hands, “I guess that depends on who you ask.”

“I’m pretty sure my alpha likes me just the way I am.” Stiles paused to pull out his own phone and read through the report that Peter had sent him. “Dickson Poon School of Law.” Stiles read, “Do you know where that is?”

Faris nodded, and the pair headed down to the underground, “What’s so special about this wolf? My alpha said he wasn’t an official pack member, but that they’re allowing him to stay as a favor to an alpha called McCall.”

“Yeah, well, I’m gonna have to talk to your alpha about that.” Stiles reached into his pocket and pulled out a small coin, pressed on one side with a triskelion and the other with a crescent moon. “Jackson is no longer under McCall’s protection. He’s under ours. The McCall pack is….” Stiles had to think of the best phrasing, “out of favor with us, and we’d be willing to dispute them. However, their alpha is woefully uninformed, so I doubt if he even knows Jackson was being protected by him.”

Faris looked at Stiles with wide eyes, “You know a lot about the McCall pack.”

Stiles gave Faris a hard sideways glance, “Yeah. Let’s stop talking about them. You asked what makes Jackson special. Jackson isn’t special. Lydia is.”

“Your banshee?” Faris asked, piecing it together. 

Stiles smiled, “You’re quick. Yes, Lydia is in our pack, and she’s a banshee. She and Jackson are…important to each other. At least, he’s important to her. I don’t actually know if she’s still important to him. That’s sort of why I’m here.” 

The two took a short train ride, and Faris guided Stiles up and into a big building. “This is the school. We could probably find the library and wait and see if he shows up.” 

Stiles nodded, “Sounds like a plan to me. Jackson hated the library in high school, but I guess a guys gotta grow up some day.”

They sat for three hours, watching as various law students wandered in and out of the library, meeting in small groups or pouring over the tomes alone. Stiles was about to call it quits when a familiar head of coiffed blond hair poked through the door. Stiles grinned and stood up, waving. Jackson froze, staring at him for a long moment before stalking over here. “What do you want, Stilinski?”

“Is there somewhere more uh…private we can talk?” Stiles asked, glancing around both of them before flashing his red alpha-mate eye and smirking, “It’s important.” 

Jackson glanced from Stiles to Faris and asked, “Who’s he? Does he have to come?”

“He is an emissary-in-training for the pack that has so graciously harbored you for the last five years. And no, he doesn’t.” Faris sputtered but Stiles held up a hand, turning to him, “I’m mated to an alpha, and I spent a year single-bonded. I think I can handle a beta, even if he’s got some special skills.” 

Jacksons eyes widened and then his face contorted, “You’re mated to McCall? What the fuck, Stiles?”

Stiles burst out laughing, earning him a sharp glance from the librarian, “No, I’m not mated to Scott. Let’s go talk. Faris, I’ll text you and you can come help me not get lost getting back to my hotel.”

The mage nodded and departed, Stiles following Jackson out of the school and towards an apartment building. “Are you gonna tell me which alpha you’re mated to?” Jackson asked, once they were out of the school and lost in the anonymity of the city crowds. 

“You can’t figure it out by yourself? Use that nose of yours.” Stiles tucked his hands into his pockets, staying close to Jackson, always on alert.

“I mean, Not Scott, not at all.” Jackson stopped and Stiles had to push him along so they got through the cross walk, “Last I heard, Hale wasn’t an Alpha.”

Stiles held up his hands in front of him and shrugged, “Things change.”

Jackson led Stiles up to a nice brownstone, and they wandered inside, Jackson setting his bag down on a table by the door. “Why are you here, Stiles? Derek want to order me to come back to Beacon Hills? Too bad, I’m staying ‘til I’m done with this degree.”

“Did you start law school early?” Stiles asked, dropping onto Jackson’s couch. “How much longer do you have?”

“Less than a year, most of a second year if I can manage to get an internship.” Jackson stood by a bay window, and stared at Stiles, “You haven’t answered my question.”

Stiles nodded, “I’m not here on Derek’s behalf. Actually, he’s kind of pissed at me for coming by myself. I’m here to give you information, Jackson.” Stiles leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, “Lydia is in our pack.” He watched the information sink in before continuing. “She still loves you, whether you deserve it or not. I’m here because I promised her that I’d find you, and Derek promised her that you’d have a place in the pack if you wanted it.” 

Jackson rested back against the wall, closing his eyes, “I can’t come back to Beacon Hills. There’s nothing there. Plus, aren’t I technically McCall’s ward, or whatever the werewolf equivalent is?”

Stiles stiffened, “The McCall pack could challenge us for you, but they’d lose. You never officially declared yourself a part of Scott’s pack – he wasn’t an alpha when you left. Technically, you’re still Derek’s beta by the bite. And we aren’t in California, Jackson. The Hale pack is based in New York City. We have been for three years now.”

“Who is ‘we’?”

“Derek is the alpha, I’m alpha-mate, and emissary. Cora, his sister, who apparently didn’t die in the fire is his Second. Peter –” Jackson stiffened, “—Is not as dead as we may have hoped, and he’s serving as Derek’s Left hand, or enforcer. Lydia is a banshee, beta rank. She’s finishing up her undergraduate and master’s degrees simultaneously in Boston, she’ll start her PhD in New York next Fall.”

“What about you?”

Stiles shrugged, “I’m finishing up dual degrees in criminal justice and modern mythology.” Stiles smirked, “Let me tell you how much I’m cheating my way through that degree with essays on the Nemeton and Beacon Hills, I’m apparently very creative. I’ve got an early acceptance to Quantico – the second good thing Raphael McCall has ever done for me – and I’ll start there next fall as well.”

Jackson studied Stiles for a long moment before moving to the couch and sitting, his face in his hands. “It’s been five years, Stilinski. I’ve tried dating but there’s just no one like her.” 

Stiles nodded, “I’ll give you that. She’s special.” Stiles reached for his phone and fired off a text to Faris. “This is a lot of information, Jackson, and I don’t want to take you away from your studies.” He held out his phone, “Type in your number and I’ll send you a text with mine. If you have any more questions, call me.” Stiles pulled out the triskele coin and handed it to Jackson. “That’s a mark of safe passage. New York can be hectic, there’s like twelve different packs and it’s possible to travel unaffiliated but can be risky. That guarantees that no one will question you.”

“Yeah right, Derek doesn’t have that kind of pull.”

Stiles smirked, “Not alone he doesn’t.” He stood up, fingers crackling with electricity, eyes locked on Jackson as he let the scent of his magic permeate the room. “And let me make something perfectly clear, Jackson. If you come back, join the pack, pull her back in and then run away again, and hurt her.” Stiles leaned close to Jackson’s ear, “I won’t let Peter be the one to put you down. I’ll do it myself.” 

Jackson backed up several steps, holding up his hands, eyes terrified. “I’ll think about it.”

“Lydia doesn’t know I was here. She won’t know. If you don’t want to come back, just continue to have dropped off the face of the planet. If you need help making the right connections in New York, or if you run into any issues, call that number. You’re under our protection now, and that means a hell of a lot more than Scott’s name ever did.”

Stiles waved and let himself out of Jackson’s apartment, leaving the werewolf to think about the information he’d gotten. 

\--  
_New York City, Day -985_

Three days after their inconveniently scheduled graduations – the same date and almost the same time in two different states, the Hale pack celebrated Stiles and Lydia’s graduations with a joint party. Lydia’s mother had flown in for the occasion, along with Stiles’ father. The party was a jovial, happy affair, discussions mostly focused on the upcoming wedding that was now just months away, and the future of studies for the pack. Leaving for a weekend for his wedding had been a stipulation that Stiles had put on his acceptance to Quantico, but he wouldn’t be able to immediately take a honeymoon, so they’d scheduled it for the Christmas holidays.

The first surprise of the night was when Allison Argent showed up at the townhouse. Before Derek and Cora could even begin to growl at a hunter stepping into their den, Lydia screamed loud enough that Stiles had to shield the vicinity from the blast of power. She wrapped her arms around Allison, who hugged her back but stared at Derek over her shoulder. After a moment, Lydia pulled away, following Allison’s line of sight as Allison turned to Derek, holding both of her empty hands up. “I’m not here to cause trouble, or for myself, I can’t join a pack, not yet. I’m escorting a werewolf who wants to ask permission to join your pack, if you’ll have him.” She smiled sweetly at Derek and stepped out of the doorway. 

Stiles’ brow furrowed for a moment, trying to figure out how Allison would have gotten in contact with Jackson, but was surprised when Isaac Lahey stepped through the door and closed it behind him. His eyes betrayed a blatant fear of rejection as he stared at the Alpha who bit him. “I heard that there was a new pack, in New York.” Isaac said softly, “Alpha by the name of Hale, some scary powerful mage as his emissary with a name nobody says correctly. When Allison told me that it was you, Derek, and Stiles? I knew it was time to try to be pack again.”

Derek looked at Stiles for a minute. Stiles just shrugged and gave Isaac a wide smile. Derek stepped towards Isaac, eyes flaring red. Isaac let out a small whine and flashed his own back, dropping to his knees with his neck bared.

Derek reached out to gently run his hand along the column of Isaac’s throat. “Welcome home, Isaac.” He said softly, pulling the wolf to his feet and into a crushing hug. 

Isaac’s eyes went wide with surprise and he tucked himself against the Alpha, a sense of joy flashing across his features as he did. 

Stiles wiped a tear from his eyes at the touching display, and the joy that Derek gave off at having one of his bitten betas in his pack and moved across the room to give Allison a hug of his own. When Derek and Isaac separated, Stiles reached up to pat Isaac on the shoulder, scenting him second, as he was supposed to. In the back of his head, Jackson’s absence was a puzzle. He’d called Stiles months ago, and they’d worked out somewhere – with help from Peter – for him to Intern as he studied to take the American Bar exam. Stiles had given him the information about the party.

Two hours later, Stiles phone buzzed in his pocket and he stepped away, looking down at the text.

JW: There’s a million people in there – can we do it somewhere more private?  
SS: Uh, I can try. There’s a liquor store down the road.  
JW: A liquor store, really?  
SS: How else do the guests of honor get out of a goddamn graduation party, Jackson.  
JW: Step outside the fucking front door.  
SS: Fine, you wanna do a submission ceremony in public, fine. Give me a minute  
JW: Wait  
JW: Stiles  
JW: STILINSKI

“Texting anyone important?” Stiles jumped as Derek slipped an arm around his shoulders, kissing the side of his head, “Isn’t basically everyone you would text in this room?”

Stiles sighed, glanced up to make sure that Lydia was occupied with Allison, and tipped his phone towards Derek so he could read the name of the contact. 

“Oh.” Derek said softly. “Twice in one night.”

“You don’t know that.” Stiles whispered, “This one is her choice.”

Derek cocked an eyebrow at Stiles, “Stiles, if she was hung up on him then, I think it’s safe to assume she still is now.”

“You do know that whispering isn’t very effective in a room full of werewolves?” Cora slipped next to Derek. “What’s the secret, I want to know.”

Stiles threw his arms up. “Lydia!” He called, waving her over. “Can we step outside for a minute?” 

Lydia eyed Stiles warily, “Why?”

Derek jumped in, “It’s a surprise.” He gave her an easy smile and she returned it, and Stiles had never been more grateful for Derek Hale in his entire life. 

Stiles waved to everyone, who had effectively stopped to watch, and led Lydia down the front steps of the townhouse. He stood behind her, bracing her shoulders as Derek stood to her right. It was quieter outside than normal, late in the evening as the sun was almost set over the horizon, street lights just starting to flicker on.

Lydia glanced at Stiles over her shoulders, “A sunset, Stiles? Really?” 

Derek scented the air and rolled his eyes, “Quit hiding, Jackson.”

Lydia froze completely still at the name, turning her head slowly to look at Stiles, who nodded, kissing her hair. “You found him.” 

“He found me.” Jackson said, rounding the corner of the building with his hands clasped in front of him. “Gave me some pretty terrifying threats too.” 

“You should probably believe him.” Derek offered, grinning. 

Lydia stepped forward slowly, hands shaking as she left Stiles’ grip. Derek grabbed one of Stiles’ hands, smelling the anxiety pouring off of both of them. “I- I don’t know what to say?”

“I do.” Jackson said, reaching out to take one of her hands as soon as she was close enough. “I love you, Lydia Martin. I spent six years in England and nobody, not in England, not anywhere I’ve ever traveled, has compared to you. Stiles found me, told me there was a pack, and that you were in it, and sicne then, I knew where I needed to be.” 

Tears shone in Lydia’s wide green eyes. “So you’re back, for good?”

Jackson gave a small smile, “If you’ll have me.” He looked past her, “And if he will, and if Stilinski won’t kill me.” 

Stiles rolled his eyes, “Y’know, kinda shows that you’re not taking the threat seriously if you’re just going to keep joking about it.” 

Lydia ignored Stiles and stepped into Jackson’s arms, her arms wrapping around his shoulders and pulling his head down for a kiss. Jackson leaned hungrily into it, and one of Derek’s eyebrows popped up at the way Lydia’s shakes immediately stopped, and the contentment, tinged with a new kind of fear and anxiety, that rolled off both of them. He turned to Stiles and tapped Stiles’ shoulder, where the mate bite was. Stiles just shrugged, making a face. 

A few seconds later, the two broke apart, smiling widely at each other. Lydia turned and ran at Stiles, who caught her quickly and wrapped her into a hug. She buried her face in his shoulder, “Thank you.” 

Stiles nodded, “Anything for you, Lyds.” He kissed her forehead, spinning her to watch. Derek stepped towards Jackson. Looking around, he looked at Stiles. “Privacy? We could have done this inside, but someone was crowd shy.”

Jackson glared at Stiles, “You showed him the texts?”

Stiles laughed, “Dude, he’s my fiancé. Yeah, I showed him the texts.” He stepped away from Lydia and threw his arms out, a shimmering wall expanding out from his back to circle around the four of them, Stiles’ eyes closed. “Get to it, I can’t hold this forever without a rune.”

Jackson had to tear his eyes away from Stiles to look back at Derek, who flared his eyes, waiting for the submission that Jackson hated to give. Jackson looked at Derek, then at Lydia, and dropped to his knees with a flash of his own blue beta eyes. He bared his throat, taking a long, shuddering breath. As he had with Isaac, Derek reached out to touch Jackson’s throat. He pulled his hand back and smiled. “Welcome to the Pack.”

Stiles sighed and dropped the shield, and Lydia ran to Jackson, but stopped herself. She turned to Stiles and looked at him expectantly. Stiles groaned and dramatically walked over to Jackson, patting him on the top of his head with a wink. Lydia just rolled her eyes and dropped to her own knees to pull Jackson close to her. Stiles moved back to Derek’s side as the alpha asked “What would someone walking by have seen with the shield up?”

Stiles smirked, “A teenager asking his girlfriends’ dad for permission to date her. Groveling on his knees for it.” 

Jackson lifted his head from Lydia’s shoulders to roll his eyes at Stiles. 

\--

As the night dwindled Peter retreated to his private rooms, locks and privacy spells popping into place almost immediately. John and Mrs. Martin departed for their hotel rooms for the evening and left the rest of them sitting in the informal den. 

“What do Adults even do at parties?” Cora asked, sitting sideways on an armchair, looking pointedly at Derek. 

Stiles, sitting on the loveseat next to Derek, choked on his beer at the implication as Derek just shook his head at his little sister, “Just because I’ve been an adult the longest doesn’t mean I have any more experience than the rest of you.”

Stiles held up a finger, “Actually um, I’m pretty sure that you’re _much_ more experienced than the rest of us.” Derek turned to him with a glare as the rest of the room laughed. 

Jackson, who had occupied the chair opposite Cora’s, with Lydia curled on his lap shook his head, “Well usually we’d put on music and dance or something.”

“In high school, we used to play that game.” Isaac turned to Allison, expression contorting, “Never have I ever?”

Allison sucked in a breath, “That sounds like a dangerous game to play with a werewolf pack.”

Lydia sat up, “Not any more dangerous than with any other group of people. I think it’s a fabulous suggestion, Isaac. Let’s see if we can learn a little about each other from our years apart. Or at least see what we remember.” She moved to sit between Allison and Isaac on the couch. 

“I don’t think I want to play.” Derek said, getting up. Stiles forced him back down with a burst of power.

“Oh no, you’re playing.” Stiles grinned at him, leaning in to kiss him. 

“Stiles, you’ve spent the last four years with me. There’s nothing I’ve done that you haven’t also done.”

“I mean, I can think of a few things that might have happened two summers ago while he was away at the internship.” Lydia said with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

Derek’s head fell back against the top of the couch and then he looked back up, eyes moving between the two of them, standing up quickly and motioning for both of them to follow him, moving out of the room. 

The three of them returned to the party with a handful of beers and the wolfsbane solution that Lydia had mixed for them. Derek smirked at her and opened the bottles before he handed them to her to mix. 

Cora saw what was in her hands and sat forward, “Oh fuck yes.”

Isaac sniffed the air, “Is that…wolfsbane? Did you three just leave to go plot our deaths?”

Cora looked at Isaac for a long moment, “What kind of life did you live in France?” 

“The wolfsbane won’t kill you. It just drops your healing factor down enough to let alcohol stay in your system for long enough that you actually feel it.” Lydia said softly, dropping a few drops of the solution into each of four beer bottles, passing them to the wolves in the room. 

Jackson looked at the beer like it was made of gold, “You mean we can actually drink again? Like, drink and feel it?”

Cora nodded, making grabby hands at Lydia as she handed her the beer. “We found it at the werewolf club.” 

“Okay, it was a supernatural club.” Stiles said, “Like, you don’t have to be a werewolf to be there.”

“You’re practically a werewolf now though, aren’t you Stilinski?” Jackson sat back, “You have the eye thing.” 

Isaac turned to Stiles, “Eye thing?”

Stiles turned to Derek, who flared his eyes, Stiles’ right eye flaring in return. “Alpha-mate. No, it doesn’t make me a werewolf.”

“Don’t you have to get bitten for that to work?” Allison asked, “I thought for the bond to be complete, you had to become a wolf.” 

Derek eyed her critically, but Stiles cut him off before he could speak, “No, it’s about intent. Derek didn’t want me to become a wolf, he just wanted to mark me as his mate. Yeah, there was a bite, but it doesn’t have to turn you.” Stiles tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut that told him exactly who might have put that idea in Allison’s head. 

“Basically, all it does is make Stiles think he can boss us around.” Cora said, tipping her beer at the mage.

Stiles smirked and tipped his back, “Actually, I can. Even Derek.”

Jackson furrowed his eyebrows, “How do you boss around an alpha when you’re not an alpha?”

Derek laughed, “I mean, he just has to ask nicely, but if we’re being technical, that eye puts him level with me. His magic makes him outrank me.”

Stiles whipped around, “What?” He blinked several times. “What do you mean?”

“I meant what I said.” Derek took a drag from his own wolfsbane beer, “Technically, based on raw power alone, you outrank most people on the east coast. Add the fact that you’re an alpha-mate, and an emissary, and we’re really lucky you’re not some power-hungry monster.”

“Are we sure?” Isaac asked, cracking a smile for the first time. 

Everyone laughed, and Lydia grabbed her own drink after capping the wolfsbane solution tightly. “So, are we gonna play or not?” She asked, smiling widely.

“Someone is gonna have to explain to our resident pack dad how to play.” Cora teased. Derek ignored the jab but did look at Lydia intently.

“Now that everyone will be able to feel the effects of alcohol, it makes it fair. Basically, we go around the circle, and everyone says “never have I ever…” and then completes the sentence. If you’ve done it, you have to drink, if you haven’t, you’re safe that round. Isaac, since it was your idea, why don’t you go first?”

Isaac nodded, thinking for a moment, “Never have I ever had to drown myself to save a parent.” He smirked at Stiles and Allison who both glared back at him as they drank. 

Lydia hummed quietly to herself for a moment as she thought, “Never have I ever had sex with more than one former or current member of the McCall pack.” She smirked at Allison who glared at her as she drank.

When she was finished, she looked directly at Lydia, “Never have I ever been a mythical creature OR wielded magic.” She grinned triumphantly as everyone around her drank. 

“Ah good, it’s nice to have a pack human, Der, can we keep her?” Cora asked jokingly, “Never have I ever attended Beacon Hills High School.” The room groaned as once again, everyone but Cora was forced to drink.

Stiles finished his beer and sat forward, summoning himself a new one from the kitchen. “Y’know, both of you missed a really easy one.” He pointed to Lydia and Allison. He grinned, “Never have I ever shifted.” 

Derek drank and then sat up and looked around the room for a few minutes, “Never have I ever defeated a Nogitsune.” He smiled, and Stiles, Lydia, and Isaac drank. He looked pointedly at Allison. “You didn’t drink.”

Allison shook her head, “I was in the hospital when it got defeated.”

“You saved my life.” Isaac said, “And you figured out how to kill the Oni. Drink.” Allison nodded to him and smiled, drinking. 

Jackson tapped the beer bottle against his lips. “Never have I ever had sex with a Hale.” 

Stiles glared as he drank, but Lydia turned her head to Jackson for a fraction of a second before lifting her glass to her lips. Jackson’s eyes grew wide for a moment and flashed to Derek before Cora laughed, “C’mon, Jackson, there’s more than one Hale?”

Jackson pointed from Lydia to Cora, “You…. and her?” 

Lydia nodded, shrugging, “Yes. Me and her. Pack mates. It’s allowed.” 

Jackson sat back, rubbing his temples. 

The game circled a few more times before they decided to call it quits. Lydia showed Allison and Isaac the empty guest rooms and tugged Jackson to hers with a wicked smile. Cora excused herself to her own bedroom and Stiles and Derek fell onto their bed. Stiles flicked his hand to activate the privacy runes as he rolled over to straddle Derek, pressing his hands against the werewolfs chest. “The pack is growing, all by itself.” 

“And we didn’t even have to have kids for it to happen.” Derek smiled, tugging Stiles down for a kiss. “We’ve certainly been making a valiant effort at it.”

Stiles smirked against Derek’s lips, “Let’s try some more, shall we?”


	9. Sacramento, Day 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a week of listening to his pack and staying put, Stiles folds to his naturally investigative instincts, and, as he would, finds the clue that everyone missed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grant is ABSOLUTELY based on the Grant Gustin. I love him so much and back in the day I was the biggest fan of Sebastian , in Glee, even though Sebastian was inherently a terrible person. Why do I love characters like that? good question. 
> 
> I've also got like 20k combined words on two other fics that I'm really trying to make myself not work on til this is done and it's not going well. I opened the fucking floodgates, y'all.
> 
> See you Sunday!
> 
> (also Im sorry for my inability to stick to a single tense. It's my problematic trait)

“You hangin’ in there S-H?” The man standing at the door is in his mid-thirties, a little taller than Derek, shorter than Isaac, and well built. He has reddish-brown hair that he styles neatly, and eyes just a bit more green than Derek’s. He’s wearing a dark grey business suit and has his hands tucked into the pockets of his pants, the suit jacket unbuttoned over a black shirt. He says the letters individually, rather than just “sh”.

Stiles looks up from his laptop to give a halfhearted one shoulder shrug at the man. “Y’know, Stilinski-Hale isn’t that long of a name. Trust me, I could show you my first name.” He closes the lid of his computer and shifts slightly on the hospital bed, faking a wince as he sits up straighter and holds out his right hand. “Did I miss anything exciting at work?”

The man is Special Agent Grant Thomas, Stiles’ partner at the Sacramento office of the FBI. He shakes Stiles’ hand and sits in the chair next to the hospital bed on the first floor of the Hale pack complex. “Had some linguistics stuff come through that we had to outsource back to HQ because you were out. Had to assist on a missing kid case, that was rough, you know I hate kids cases. Nothing too uh….” Grant looks around the room. “Odd.” He looked critically at Stiles, “Are you still injured or?”

Stiles just laughs and reaches up to flick his hand, closing the door, and shifts out of his fake cast. Stiles and Grant worked in the crimes against adults sector of the Sacramento field office. Originally, he hadn’t intended to tell anyone from the FBI about the supernatural, but when the first case that Stiles and Grant had worked had turned out to be a clan of wendigos killing – and eating - homeless people, and Stiles had been forced to get himself and Grant out of harms way through supernatural means, the cat had been out of the bag. “I’m surprised the division didn’t try to take the investigation from the local cops. I’m an adult.”

“You try to be an adult, S-H. We did try, but the cops said there was no reason to believe it was linked to your job so, we didn’t have jurisdiction. The big guy wanted to fight to take the case anyway, but some hot shot lawyer was there and started calling up case law about jurisdiction.”

Stiles nodded, still smirking, “Let me guess, was the hot shot lawyer Jackson Whittemore?” 

Grant cocked an eyebrow, “You know him?”

“He’s pack.” Stiles said, crossing his legs on the bed, “He was there because I don’t want the FBI to touch this with a ten-foot pole. They’ve got Frank Lewis on the case, and he won’t get within ten feet of the correct answer as it is because it’s not an issue that can be dealt with legally.”

Grant looked confused for a minute, staring down at his hands, “I know you’re some kind of wizard, but you got shot. That can still be handled legally.” 

Stiles folded his arms over his chest, “The problem isn’t that I’m a mage. The problem is that I was only kind of the target of the attack.” Grant looked at Stiles expectantly, “They weren’t trying to kill me because I was a mage. They were trying to kill me because my husband is an alpha werewolf.” 

Grant sat back in his chair, “You guys know who did this?”

Stiles shook his head, “I have some guesses, but no evidence yet. There are a lot of people out there with reasons to hurt Derek, and the list only gets slimmed down a bit when we filter by people who know that they can use me to do it.” Stiles ran one of his hands through his too-shaggy brown hair, “But if it wasn’t a supernatural, they wouldn’t have shot me, they’d have just shot Derek.” Stiles chewed on his lip for a few minutes, “It’s gonna be a while before I can come back, Grant. I have to resolve this.” 

Grant just gave a shrug, “I’ll talk to the big guy and see if he can give you some extended leave. It helps that you’re supposed to have like, several broken bones and a gunshot wound to the stomach, so that should buy you a few weeks at least before they want to put you on desk duty.”

Stiles gave the other agent a bright smile. “Thanks, Grant. Did you want to stay for dinner? I’m not sure what it is but somehow despite having five adult werewolves in the house, we always have extra.”

Grant shook his head, “I gotta go. Is uh…Is Cora home?”

Stiles raised an eyebrow, “No, she’s working today, for a change.” He smiled knowingly, “When are you going to suck it up and just ask her out?”

Grant looked at his feet, “She’s intimidating, Stiles. Give me a break.”

Stiles laughed loudly and clapped Grant on the shoulder, “I’m married to her brother, so I guess I can understand the intimidation factor. Hales, man.” 

Stiles showed Grant to the door, catching a bewildered look from Allison as he walked past the living room with the other agent. She was staring a printed report of all the evidence that Peter, Lupe, Faris and Jackosn had collected on Stiles’ kidnapping. On his way back he looked at her, “What?”

“You’re supposed to have a broken foot and a broken arm, not to mention the gunshot wound, and you just walked an FBI agent to the door.”

“Oh.” Stiles said, dropping onto the couch next to her to look down at the papers. It was unnecessary, he had most of the information memorized, had corrected what he could once he woke up. “Grant knows. First case, I had to stun a clan of wendigos before they had my partner for dinner. Brought him back here to clean him up.” Stiles sucked in a breath, “Bit hard to keep the secret after that.”

Allison cocked an eyebrow at him and then just shook her head, “You’re the boss.”

“How confident are you in that statement?” Stiles asked, folding his hands together, grinning at Allison.

She stared back warily, “Why?”

“The pack are treating me like I’m made of glass.” Stiles said with a groan, “I’m a goddamn mage, a special agent for the FBI, and an alpha-mate. I’m the most qualified to investigate my own goddamn kidnapping and they won’t let me leave the building.” 

“What do you want me to do about it?” Allison asked. “Lydia literally had to drag Derek out of the complex this morning to get him to go do his goddamn job. The only way he agreed was that I was going to stay to make sure you didn’t do anything stupid.”

Stiles flicked his eyes up for a moment, “You’re the only one here now. If I try to leave, are you going to try to stop me?” 

“Are you going to do something stupid?”

Stiles grinned, “Probably.” 

“I’m not stupid enough to try and stop you.” Stiles stood up and barely restrained punching the air, “But I am going to go with you, or Derek will tear my throat out.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, “Y’know, for as much as that joke gets made, I’ve only ever seen Derek tear throats out of people who deserved it, like Peter.” 

Allison ignored the joke, “Don’t leave without me, I have to go upstairs and get ready.”

Stiles patted her on the shoulder, “Yes ma’am.”

Allison forced Stiles to send a message to the pack, which he did begrudgingly before putting the phone on silent and tucking it away into the zippered pocket of his jacket. He was still weaker than he wanted to be, which was part of the reason he agreed to let Allison to come with him. His hand-to-hand would suffer greatly from the wound that was still achingly slow to heal on his wrist. He could shield her, however, essentially as long as was necessary. 

Over the years, he’d made several of the metal cuffs that Derek had made for him for their first Christmas together. The one chose today was bronze, two inches long and etched with various kinds of defensive and healing runes. He didn’t use this cuff as often as some of the others – preferring not to force the wolves to fight battles he could end with a quick burst of power. Peter had made more than one joke about Stiles needing to give someone else in the pack a job – he couldn’t be the Emissary, alpha-mate, and the Left Hand. 

He’d also slid his gun – not his service weapon, one more designed for taking out supernatural creatures – into a holster across his side before he shrugged on the jacket and tugged a black beanie down over his hair. Allison seemed similarly armed, a bag slung across her back that could be mistaken for a yoga mat, but that Stiles knew held a bow and arrows. He would bet money there were a slew of other weapons hidden beneath deceptively fitted clothing but didn’t ask – Allison Argent was a skilled hunter, and he’d trusted her for years. 

She looked at Stiles and nodded, “Where are we going that we both look dressed for war?”

Stiles walked to the cabinet that held the keys to the packs various vehicles. He picked a set of keys for a car that he didn’t normally drive, not wanting to draw attention to himself – the FBI thought he was still laid up after all. “We’re gonna retrace my steps.” He said softly, heading towards the parking garage. 

\--  
“LYDIA.” 

Lydia looked up from her computer and rolled her eyes, pushing back from her desk and walking down the hall to Derek’s office, where he sat staring at his cell phone, chair turned away from his computer towards the large, floor-to-ceiling windows that framed his CEO office. He and Lydia had started their own investment firm back in New York – with Derek running the business and social interaction aspects, and Lydia in charge of numbers – statistics, risk analysis, finances. They employed a few others, the people who had somehow managed to keep everything together in the last two weeks that their bosses had been missing. 

“Yes, alpha-mine?” She asked too sweetly.

“Did you look at your phone?” He asked, looking up at her and holding out his own. 

Lydia took the phone and rolled her eyes before glancing down.

SSH: Heading out for a bit, I’m fine. Allison is with me. We’re both armed.  
SSH: Derek do not come after me I swear to god.

She looked back up to Derek’s face, “What do you want me to say?”

Derek rubbed his hands over his face, “Two weeks ago he almost died.”

“And now, he’s a twenty-five-year-old alpha-mate, an incredibly powerful mage, and an FBI agent, Derek. He’s accompanied by an accomplished hunter who would – and nearly has – give her life for him.”

“They could have at least taken a wolf with them.” Derek moaned, taking the phone back from Lydia and setting it on the desk with a thump. “He’s not back to his full strength.” 

Lydia shrugged, “That’s probably why he didn’t just sneak out from under Allison’s watch.”

“This is Peter’s job. Peter is investigating. Lupe is helping, Faris is helping. Stiles is supposed to be recovering.” 

“Are you his husband, or his dad? Stiles is an investigator, Derek. It’s literally his profession.” Lydia asked, earning herself a glare from Derek. “And he’s an adult. He’s more than capable of protecting himself, and he has Allison. He’s on guard. He’s not going to get taken by surprise again.”

Derek’s face fell from anger to sadness, “He shouldn’t have gotten taken the first time. I was supposed to be meeting him at that restaurant. I got sidetracked and I was late, and he got kidnapped and it’s my fucking fault.”

Lydia’s eyes narrowed, and she turned around to close the door to Derek’s office. “Sidetracked?” She asked.

Derek’s eyes flicked up from the floor to meet hers, “Distracted?” He offered, “Thrown off of my routine? I can look up the Webster’s dictionary definition for you if you’d like.” 

Lydia ignored him, “What time were you supposed to meet Stiles at the restaurant?” She asked, sitting down across from Derek with her hands folded in her lap. “And what sidetracked you?”

“He got off shift at 6, we were supposed to meet up by 7. I wanted to stop home to change. Isaac was there.” Derek looked away, “It seemed like he’d had a hard time at work that day, so I just stopped for ten fucking minutes to calm him down. Then as I was leaving, there was someone just like, standing in the road. I had to honk like three times to get them to move, and as soon as I went to get out of the road, it was like they snapped out of some kind of trance and left. I didn’t even think anything of it beyond annoyance, I just wanted to make sure I was on time. I got to the restaurant at 7:08 and he was gone. His car was there but he was gone.”

Lydia nodded, “Did you tell Peter this story, about the person in the road?” She asked softly, “Or Stiles?”

Derek shook his head, sitting back against his chair, “I didn’t even realize it could be relevant. Everything has been such a fucking blur lately. All I cared about was finding Stiles.”

Lydia stood up, “Well, I’ll tell Stiles, you tell Peter. I think someone standing in the road, possibly in some kind of trance, is sufficiently suspicious. I don’t think Isaac could have predicted that he’d have a bad day, but it’s possible the person in the way was there to slow you down and Isaac just made their job easier.” 

Derek nodded, “I’ll call Peter.” 

Lydia smiled, “And then get some of your work done, for fucks sake.”

\--

Allison looked down at the phone and read the text message quickly before handing it back to Stiles. They were sitting in the car outside the fancy French restaurant that Derek and he had intended to meet at. Peter had already questioned the staff about seeing anything suspicious, but it all seemed too convenient. Once he’d read the text message about the strange man in the road blocking Derek, it all snapped into place. “Someone had to know we were going to meet here.” He rubbed between his eyebrows, “But how? The pack didn’t even know – aside from apparently Isaac.” 

“Did you tell anyone at work?” Allison asked, scrolling through the google results for the restaurant on her phone.

“No, not specifics. I just said I was going to dinner with Derek.” Stiles sighed and stared at the door of the restaurant. “Derek had a reservation though.” He said softly.

Allison turned to him, “I’ll be right back.” She loped off towards the door and Stiles tracked her with his eyes the whole way. She returned less than 5 minutes later and sat back down in the passenger’s seat, “You should probably reconsider coming here. I told them that I was trying to see if my partner had made a reservation for us, but that I couldn’t be sure what name he’d made it under. The hostess just handed me the log of reservations. So, anyone could have known that the two of you were going to be here, and at what time.” 

Stiles nodded, “Okay. But they said they didn’t see anyone suspicious. And nobody actually saw me get taken. I mean, fuck, I don’t even remember getting taken. I remember parking, and opening my door and then … nothing, until I woke up in the cage.”

Allison swallowed, “I guess that means we need to go find the cage?” 

Stiles shook his head, “Nah, the cops have it in evidence. Jackson has been working on getting someone in to examine it, but so far, it’s been a no go. I’d go myself but I’m supposed to be bedridden.” Stiles ran a hand over his face and then turned the car back on. “We’re gonna go to the warehouse. If I can’t find anything, we’ll find a way to get to the cage.”

\--

Peter turned to Lupe with a pair of critical blue eyes, “Someone had to know where Stiles and Derek were going to be.” He said, crossing his arms over his chest. “We’ve established that someone tailing either of them without being noticed would have been essentially impossible.” He tapped his fingers against each other in front of his face, “It’s not the pack, and it’s not electronic communication being intercepted. We’ve been on encrypted networks for years.”

Lupe hummed to himself as he stared down at the timeline. “How often to Stiles and Derek go out to dinner like this?”

“Alone? Hardly ever. Once a month at most.” Faris offered, sitting up from where he’d slumped in the chair next to Lupe.

Lupe nodded, “And when they do go, isn’t it always this same restaurant?”

Peter’s eyes widened slightly, “They weren’t tailing them constantly. They probably narrowed it down to a few locations and waited for them to fall into their trap.” 

“Whoever did this had planned it.”

“For at least two months.” Faris said softly from his seat, “They didn’t have their dinner date last month because of the holidays. So, whoever did this has been watching them since at least November.” 

“We need to go back to the restaurant and see if there was anyone snooping around.” Lupe said, standing.

Peter’s phone alerted at that moment, and the wolf grabbed it to read the messages that Stiles had sent.

SSH: They knew we had a reservation. AA was able to look at entire reservation book without arousing suspicion. Headed to warehouse now to look around.  
SSH: Traffic camera outside restaurant, and security cameras on hostess station. Go to the restaurant to check for suspicious people on the tapes.  
SSH: I’ll send Jackson to PD to get the traffic cam.

Peter set the phone down. “We do need to go back to the restaurant, but not to ask if they noticed anyone. We’re going to have to check for ourselves.” He turned the phone so Faris and Lupe could read Stiles’ messages.

“Should he be out investigating this already?” Faris asked, looking at Lupe, “Isn’t he still healing?”

Lupe shrugged and looked from Faris to Peter, “The only person that has a prayer of keeping Stiles in the complex is Derek, and I’m guessing Stiles is ignoring that particular request.”

“Let’s go see these cameras. I’d like to get through the footage sometime this century.” Peter stood up, winking at Lupe, “Maybe if we hurry, we can even have it done in time for me to make dinner.”

\--  
It took a long time for Stiles to get out of the car at the warehouse. It was a series of nondescript grey building, largely abandoned aside from a few small businesses that stored excess merchandise, but this particular building was in a dead zone, surrounded on all sides by empty buildings, which had essentially made it a perfect prison. Stiles had been locked in a metal cage inside the center of the building.  
He’d have been willing to accept that it was your average human crime until he’d tried to use magic to figure out where he was and set off whatever fucked up spell they’d used to cause any of Stiles’ magic to rebound off the bars of the cage and slam back into him like a goddamn freight train. That had been what had broken his arm and collar bone, the generic, undirected burst of power of the locator spell bouncing back at him with a vengeance.

He was safe to use magic within the bounds of the cell, but if he’d tried to cast it outside the cage, it hit him instead. The first time his captor had entered the room – a tall, thin person dressed in non-descript black clothes, face covered by a black ski-mask, he’d tried to restrain them magically and that had broken his foot. After that, Stiles was careful. He was afraid to try healing his own wounds, afraid to try anything really, for fear of making his situation any worse.

He finally opened the door and Allison jostled from her seat, stepping out of the car, bow in hand, open quiver on her back. Stiles tried to ignore the way his hand shook as he drew his gun and flicked the safety down, walking carefully towards the building. As soon as he crossed the threshold, he started probing ten feet ahead, and felt nothing. The center room, where he’d been housed, was blocked with yellow caution tape that Stiles and Allison ducked under. 

“Empty?” Allison asked, voice quiet.

“As far as I can tell. Nobody living, at least.” Stiles stared at the center of the large room, at the blood stain that nobody had bothered to clean up, the imprint where Derek had sat to hold him clearly visible. His throat tightened convulsively, and he had to take a few long, steadying breaths. Allison placed her hand gently on his shoulder to steady him. “That’s my blood.” He said softly.

“You survived, Stiles.” She moved so he could see her face, “Just like me. It took me months to even have the strength to draw a bow. Here you are, two weeks later, healthy. You survived and you’re going to figure this out.” 

Stiles gave her a half smile and nodded. “I’ll go left, you go right, meet back here. If you see anything, call out.” 

\--

JW: Struck out on traffic cams. Lewis is in a mood today. Wanted more info to let me see the cameras.  
SSH: Go to the FBI field office. Ask for Grant Thomas. Tell him I sent you.

Jackson double checked the name before stepping into the field office. It was similar to the police precincts, but more spacious. The receptionist greeted him with a friendly smile. “Welcome to the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s Sacramento field office. How can I help you?”

Jackson gave his best charming smile back, “I was wondering if Special Agent Grant Thomas was available?”

The receptionist pressed a few buttons on the phone in front of her and held it up to her ear. Jackson listened closely. _Hello?_ A man’s voice answered. “Agent Thomas, there’s someone here to see you.” _Do they have a name?_ “Just a moment.” She looked up at Jackson, “What’s your name, dear?” She repeated it back once Jackson told her. _Okay. Send him back._ The receptionist hung up and smiled, “Agent Thomas’ office is the third one back on the left.” 

Jackson nodded and headed back, glancing at the name plate on the door. Thomas and Stilinski-Hale. He knocked once before the door shot open. Grant looked stressed, had taken off his coat and wore only a his black dress shirt that had something that smelled suspiciously like blood on it. Jackson held out a hand in greeting, “Stiles sent me.” Jackson couldn't help sniffing. Did the office smell like Cora or was he imagining things?

“Figured as much.” Grant shook Jackson’s hand and then moved back out of the way so the werewolf could enter. He shut the door behind them and walked to his desk, which was closer to the door. Grant didn’t actually smell nervous, just tired. And vaguely like sex. And vaguely like Cora. Which was a combination of scents he was particularly used to.

Jackson sat in a chair on the other side of Grant’s desk. “Are you okay?”

“Just tired. S-H being out dumps a lot on my lap. Had to go help track someone down just after I left your complex this morning.” Grant rubbed at his eyes briefly, “Anyway, you’re not here to ask me how I am. You specifically tried to keep the FBI out of this investigation, so what are you doing here now?”

“We need to look at traffic cams outside the French Bistro on K street. PD has looked only long enough to see that they don’t face the parking lot, so we see Stiles’ car enter, and then Derek’s ten minutes later. They tossed it as evidence.” Jackson looked across at the large glass board near Stiles’ desk, “We think it might show someone there earlier in the day, or in the days before, someone checking to see who might have a reservation for Hale for 7pm.”

Grant nodded, following, “And he sent you to me because PD won’t let you see the cameras?”

Jackson gave a brief nod, “Someone knew Stiles and Derek were going to go to that restaurant that night. And we think someone might actually have taken steps to make sure that Derek was later than Stiles. We have our Left—private investigator—”

“Peter, resident crazy brought-back-from-the-dead-Uncle, I met him at the house one day, You don’t have to humanize on my behalf.” 

Jackson smiled, “Our Left Hand is checking the surveillance cameras inside the bistro.”

“Where is S-H?” Grant said with a knowing smirk.

“Your guess is probably better than mine. We know he’s well-armed and escorted by someone most wolves know better than to fuck with.” Jackson nodded at the computer, “So can you pull up the traffic cameras or not?”

Jackson decided against asking Grant about Cora right now. Maybe later.

\--

Stiles knelt next to a pile of metal shavings and scrap wood, closing his eyes for a brief moment as he probed. When the probe reached something, deep underneath the pile, he frowned and drew it into his hands. The bullet casing had probably sat under the pile of rubble for two weeks, unnoticed by the police department or even the pack. He stared at it for a long time before he stood up and called, “Allison.” With a shaky voice. 

The huntress was beside him a few seconds later, sprinting across the open room, “What is it, Stiles? Are you okay?” 

Stiles held out the bullet casing on his palm, hand shaking as he extended it to her. “I think I found part of an answer.” 

Allison took the casing and turned it over slowly in her hand, stopping when the symbol became visible. “We need to call my dad. We need to call my dad, right now.” 

Stiles nodded, “I’ll call Peter.” He reached for his phone and dialed.

“Hello, Stiles. We’re still watching the videos. Months of footage doesn’t go by in an hour.” 

“It’s the Calaveras.” Stiles said with a growl, “But why wouldn’t they just kill Derek?”

“Maybe—” Peter paused for a long moment, “Lupe, roll that back.” Ten seconds of muffled sounds followed and then the sound of Peter hitting a desk, “Because Araya isn’t working alone.”

Stiles’ heart was in his chest, “Who, Peter?”

“Stiles, you need to get back to the compound, you aren’t safe.” Peter spoke quickly, “Lupe, get a copy of this video. Faris, you need to go to Derek and Lydia’s offices and escort them back to the complex. I’ll call out to the rest of the pack.”

“PETER.” Stiles let the alpha-mate tone bleed into his voice, “WHO is it.”

Peter sighed loudly, “It’s Kate. Get somewhere safe, Stiles.” The Left Hand hung up and Stiles was left staring at his phone. His fingers gripped the cool metal of the phone so hard that his knuckles were white.

“Who?” Allison asked softly, touching Stiles’ shoulder again, grounding him. Her phone was still in her hand, hovering over the send button.

“Call your dad.” Stiles said softly, “Looks like his sister is back again.”

\--

For Stiles, guilt manifested like worry, like anxiety, anxiety to fix the problem, nervous energy that fueled him as he worked. For Derek, guilt felt like a crushing sadness, it left him struggling to breathe, struggling to act, struggling to be the person his pack needed him to be. It had taken Stiles approximately thirty seconds to see that the news had reached Derek by the time Faris brought him and Lydia into the house. Stiles had tugged Derek upstairs to their bedroom and pressed him down gently on to the bed, stripping him out of his tie and suit jacket, unbuttoning his shirt and throwing it aside. “You need to stop and breathe.” Stiles said softly, running his hands through the alpha’s hair. “You’ve hardly been sleeping as it is.”

“This is all my fault.” Derek exhaled against Stiles’ chest, “Kate and- and me being late to the restaurant and me not noticing things.” The alpha was shaking, breaking apart in his mate’s arms, “Stiles, I’m so sorry.”

Stiles crouched so his face was level with Derek’s, “I’m alive. I’m here, it’s going to be okay. They aren’t going to win. I swear to you on my mother’s grave that I won’t let them win.”

“You already nearly died once.” Derek whispered.

“But I didn’t, because mate and my pack kept me safe, got me the help I needed, fuck, Derek, you literally had to save me from myself.” Stiles pressed a chaste kiss to Derek’s lips, “You rest, I’ll go talk to Cora and Peter. We deal with this as a pack – or packs.”

“Packs?” Derek asked, furrowing his brows together. 

Stiles sighed, “If the Calaveras are back, and Kate is around, the McCall pack is easy pickings. Plus, they HAVE to have a magic user working with them. Marian said it herself – and Queen Maricella agreed. Someone powerful is working with them, or they’d have never been able to contain me.” Stiles pressed his forehead to Derek’s, “We have to warn them about what is coming.”

“They’re not your responsibility.” Derek breathed, “What if they’re behind this?”

“I know Scott has made some royally fucked up alliances, usually with Deucalion, but even he wouldn’t side with Kate. Remember when you told me back in New York, that I outranked most of the east coast by raw power alone?” Derek nodded, “That’s true on the west coast too. So, they’re not my responsibility, but I have a duty to warn them.”

Derek sighed, “I’m so afraid I’m going to lose you.” He wrapped his arms around Stiles’ shoulders, pulling him closer, “I just got you back and I’m afraid you’re just going to disappear.”

“I swear to you, everything will be okay. Trust me.” Stiles stood up, “You rest for a bit, pull yourself together. I’m going to go discuss with the Pack what our next steps are. When you feel better, we can make final decisions, together.”

Derek nodded, leaning back against the bed and covering his face with his hands. “I should have made sure she was dead.” He whispered.

“You had literally just come back from the dead yourself, Der. I think you can give yourself a bit of a break.” Stiles leaned down to kiss Derek’s neck, nuzzling along his throat, scenting him. Stiles couldn’t smell it, but he knew Derek could. “Rest.”

\--

Scott frowns down at the text message from the Sheriff. It’s just a ten-digit phone number, one that seems foreign and familiar in the same moment. _Call this number_ was all that had accompanied the number. Scott is alone at work in the animal clinic, Deaton had left early for the day, and the waiting room was empty for the moment. He just isn’t sure why the number looks so fucking familiar.

He clicks it, and his phone redirects to the phone app, and that’s when he sees it, realizes why he knew the number. The contact is still saved in his phone. _Stiles_

“Scott?” Stiles’ voice is the same. Maybe a little older. He sounds stressed, anxious. 

“Stiles! You’re okay.” 

“Yeah, I made it. Listen. We need to talk.”

God did they, seven years of talking. Scott owed Stiles a million apologies. He hadn’t realized until Stiles had left that he had failed so spectacularly as an Alpha. True alpha or not, he’d focused so hard on keeping the things they were fighting alive that he’d nearly sacrificed members of his own pack. He’d lost his best friend, his brother, in the process. “When? Where? Do you want me to drive up?”

“No.” Stiles said, “You’ll need your pack, whoever makes up the inner circle. At least Deaton and whoever is working as your Left Hand – if you even have one of those. We’ll meet at the old Distillery tomorrow, 6pm.”

Ah, so it was pack business, not their friendship. “Okay.” Scott said softly, a little sadly, “We’ll be there man.”

“Great. Hey uh – Scott.”

“Yeah, Stiles?”

“Keep your eyes open. Stay safe.”


	10. New York City, Day -843

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sterek Wedding extravaganza, with a side of formally introducing the two OC pack members (both of whom you've already technically met!!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this there's just one more 'past' chapter!! We're actually fricken getting to the end of this gd monster!! Thank you all for your support! <3

Two weeks before Stiles had left for Quantico, he’d left the townhouse midday without saying anything and returned two hours later with a dark-haired mage that smelled distinctly like a werewolf pack. Stiles gathered the pack in the living room. Jackson stood towards the back of the room. “I don’t have to go back, do I?” He asked softly, staring at Stiles.

Stiles shook his head, “Everyone, this is Faris Vsevolod. He’s an emissary-in-training and a mage. He’s currently in the pack that was harboring Jackson in London. I asked him if he’d be willing to join us.” 

Derek cocked an eyebrow, “Why do we need a second mage?” He studied the other man carefully. He didn’t seem nervous in a room full of werewolves, which was a good sign. His head was bowed slightly as he stood next to Stiles, a sign of respect. 

“I can’t be everywhere at once.” Stiles said softly, “I have to go to Virginia and when I’m there I need to be able to focus. I can’t worry about monitoring wards, or meeting with other packs. I have to stay focused because this is my dream, guys. This is what I’ve been working towards for years.” Stiles had looked so sure, and then his features kind of fell as the room stayed quiet, “I’m sorry, okay. I know that I’m abandoning my duties, but that’s why I asked Faris to come, to join the pack. He’s a good mage. He can help.”

Faris touched Stiles’ arm lightly, and Stiles gave him a half-smile, “I’m not here to take anyone’s place. Stiles is young and won’t need a replacement for many years. I’m here to offer my assistance to a friend. I can stay, or leave, whenever you feel it necessary, Alpha.” Faris gave a deep tilt of his head in Derek’s direction.

“He’s fine by me.” Cora said, eyes sparkling.

“He’s not here to be a toy, Cora.” Stiles chided. Faris just laughed good-naturedly. “He’s a well-trained, well-versed mage, who knows a lot about werewolf culture. He’s an asset to the pack.”

Derek held up a hand, “Stiles, I’m not saying it’s a bad idea. I’m just surprised, is all.” He smiled, “Does anyone object to accepting a second mage into the pack?” He asked, glancing around the room as everyone shook their heads. Derek stood and walked to Faris, looking at Stiles briefly before flashing his eyes at Faris, who dropped gracefully to his knees and tilted his face up. “Do you accept the position of emissary-in-training, and agree to assist in the protection and guidance of this pack?”

“With honor, Alpha Hale.” Faris didn’t even flinch as Derek’s fingers dragged down the column of his pale-brown throat. “Thank you for welcoming me.” He said as he stood. 

Stiles smiled widely and turned to Faris to rub their cheeks together gently, “Thank you for coming, Faris. I feel much better knowing you’ll be here while I can’t.”

Faris glanced around the room, “There were four other emissaries-in-training in my pack in London.” He said softly, turning to Stiles, “You don’t turn down a chance to work with the descendant of a Gajos mage.” He gave Stiles another head tilt and moved around the room with grace to greet the other members of the pack.

Derek pressed a kiss to the side of Stiles’ head, “You’re allowed to be selfish occasionally, you know that right?” He smiled, “If it was getting to be too much, you could have said something.” 

Stiles shook his head, “It’s not that it was too much, I just … I want to make sure the pack is strong, protected. And Faris can do that. I won’t be able to travel during the first twelve weeks of being gone, aside from the wedding. I just feel better with a magic-user here. Plus, Faris is a good mage, and a good man. Being with us, he’ll have more contact with other packs, he could find the right one for him.” 

Derek smiled at him, “You’re growing into your alpha eye.” He kissed Stiles’ cheek as he rolled his eyes. 

\--

By the time Stiles got back to New York in late September for his and Derek’s wedding, he looked absolutely exhausted. Lydia, who had managed the last of the wedding organization in Stiles’ place, took one look at Stiles and then dragged him upstairs for a nap. “The wedding is tomorrow night, Stiles. You haven’t given me much time to get rid of the bags under your eyes.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, “It’s a lot of work. Five AM workouts, firearms training that I keep testing out of, history of crime and criminal justice classes. Self-defense hand-to-hand. It’s a lot.” Stiles let Lydia shrug him out of his T-shirt and fell back against his pillows. “Just let me sleep for a few hours. When does Derek get home from work?”

Lydia smirked, “Oh no, you don’t get to see Derek. Not yet, not until tomorrow. It’s bad luck.” 

Stiles gave a half-hearted glare. “It’s a fucking superstition. It’s not real. I’m not some blushing virginal bride that needs to be kept from her husband. I want to see Derek.”

Lydia shook he head, “No.” She kissed his cheek, “You rest. Isaac and Cora are wrangling Derek, who from what I can tell is equally displeased about not being able to see you. Tomorrow we have breakfast, you have to meet with the officiant, we have to get you into your suit and then the wedding ceremony at five.” 

“Lydia, I know the schedule. I’m home for three days, only three days. One of them being this day. That is barely three nights to see my mate. I don’t care about superstition. I just want to see Derek.”

“No.” Lydia smiled and headed out of the room. “Besides, we aren’t stupid. Derek isn’t even here, and nobody will tell you where he is.”

“Find me a wolf, I’ll make them tell me.”

“You going around threatening your friends, kid?” Stiles looked at the doorway and gave his dad a half-smile. “You’ll be okay without him for one night. Believe me, the night before I got married I tried everything to get to see your mom. My best man had strict orders from the maid of honor not to let me even try to find Claudia. At one point, he had to threaten to lock me up with my own handcuffs.” John held up a pair, grinned, and sat on the bed, “Tell me about the academy so I don’t have to use them.”

\--

“Derek, you promised you weren’t gonna try to alpha-us to get out of this. We talked about it for weeks.” Isaac stood in the doorway; arms crossed. “And then Lydia made Cora and I promise that we weren’t going to let you go home. So please don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

Derek growled, and Cora rolled her eyes, reaching up to throw him back towards the bed in the hotel suite they were currently staying at, “Keep that up, big brother, and we’re going to get accused of hiding a dog in the room.” 

Derek glared at both of them, “This is stupid. There’s no reason I can’t see Stiles. This is nothing more than stupid human superstition.”

“Your mate is a human. This is a tradition. You’re going to put up with it. You already bullied your way into a werewolf marriage ceremony, the least you can do is let the rest of us enjoy the human traditions.” Isaac leaned against the door frame, smirking.

“What he said.” Cora sat on the floor in front of Isaac.

“You’re a born wolf, why are you siding with him.” Derek asked, grumbling as he climbed to his feet and dropped onto the bed with his arms crossed, probably looking like a grumpy child. 

“For the joy of it, brother.” Cora’s grin was wicked, and Derek rolled his eyes. Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she straightened a leg so should could dig it out, grin widening as she read the text. 

LM: Stiles made it safely. Throwing a fit. Had to call in the Sheriff.

Cora snorted at the phrasing, “Seems you’re doing better than Stiles, actually, apparently Lydia had to call his dad to get him to settle down.” She realized a fraction of a second too late that it was possibly the wrong thing to say, and she felt Derek’s grief crash against her through the pack bond. She looked up, “Isaac, could you give us a few minutes?” She asked softly. The blond wolf nodded and let himself out of the hotel room.

Cora walked over to sit on the bed opposite the one Derek sat at, “Do I need to give you my version of Stiles’ ‘it’s okay to let yourself feel things’ speech?” 

Derek shook his head, looking pointedly at the bed next to Cora and not at her, “I just wish they were here. All of them. Laura would have loved Stiles so much.”

“Oh God, they would have been insufferable. Could you imagine the trouble they would have gotten into? That level of deviousness in one room would have been a disaster.” Cora sat back against the pillows with a fond smile on her face, “And he would have driven mom up a fucking wall. She hated when people talked back to her or defied her rules.” She turned to Derek with a sad smile, “Dad would have loved him too. Dad is the only person I know that read as much as Stiles and Peter.”

“We lost so many people that day.” Derek said, choking back a sob, tears flooding his eyes, “So many people that should have been here. I just…” He held up his hands like he was trying to find the words but they fell to the bed.

Cora moved from her bed to sit next to Derek, running a hand through her alpha’s hair, “Stiles said something once, and it was really helpful at the time.” She kissed the top of Derek’s head, “They wouldn’t want us to mope around and miss them. They’d want us to be happy. They’d be happy for you, because god Derek you spent so much of your life miserable it’s about time you found something – someone – who can make you smile.” 

Derek lifted his face to give his sister a sad smile, reaching up to wipe the tears from his eyes, “I’m glad you didn’t die in the fire.” He said, pressing a kiss to Cora’s forehead, “I know it’s been hard to stay with me and with Peter, but I’m glad you did.”

“I’m a Hale.” Cora said with a smile, “This is the Hale pack, this is where I belong.” She tucked her face against Derek’s shoulder and the siblings sat in silence for a few minutes. “Besides, I’m not going to lie, Stiles scares people.”

Derek snorted, “What does that have to do with staying in the pack?”

Cora grinned, “It means that I don’t have to worry about someone taking out my alpha, or hurting my pack, because nobody wants to go up against Stiles.”

Derek raised an eyebrow, “I thought Peter was the one that dealt with that sort of thing.”

Cora shrugged one shoulder, “Peter handles things diplomatically, but if threats start flying or turning magical, he tends to outsource them.”

“To Stiles.” 

“To Faris, currently. But yes, usually, to Stiles.”

Derek rolled his eyes and flopped back on the bed, “Why do I know less about how my pack runs than everyone else?” 

“We’ll come to you when it’s something we can’t handle. You work a lot.”

“Stiles literally got two degrees in four years and is now in the FBI academy. You go to him apparently, but you’ve never come to me.” Derek said. “And I work a lot because I was under the impression there was nothing better for me to do with my time.”

“Stiles doesn’t like idle time. And yes, Exactly. You keep being our big bad alpha and making money so we can live the way we want and let the rest of us handle the dirty work.”

Derek sat up with a pointed look, “The next time Peter wants to outsource something, let him know that I’d like to know about it.”

Cora smirked in a way that meant she absolutely wouldn’t, patted his cheek and blatantly lied, “Sure.”

\--

Stiles’ fingers thrummed against the edge of his laptop as he sat, cross legged in only his wedding pants and a T-shirt on the bed. “I’m so glad that Derek and I are both guys. The amount of bullshit wedding tradition we get to skip because neither of us identify as a woman is truly phenomenal.” He closed the lid of his laptop and looked over at Peter – who just stared at him with bored blue eyes over the edge of the book he’d brought with him. “Y’know, Peter, if you don’t want to put up with my bullshit you could just leave me alone.”

Peter’s lips pursed, “I, like all the other members of this pack, value my sexual organs, and it is those very organs that Lydia has threatened if I so much as think about letting you leave the room.” He flicked his eyes back to the book, “What I did to deserve this particular duty is beyond me, but trust me, Stiles, Lydia is being a bridezilla in your place.”

Stiles shrugged and looked at the door with a smirk as Lydia entered, glaring. She was dressed in a long, forest green, one-shoulder dress that showed off the creamy texture of her skin down her shapely arms, and her face was made up, lips dressed in red lipstick that Stiles was sure would be on everyones faces before the night was over. She snapped at him. “Get off the bed, Jesus I’m going to have to steam those suit pants again, and this time I’m not taking them off first.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and stood up, flicking his hand over the pants, the wrinkles leaving them, the pants falling in crisp lines against his legs, “Powerful mage vs wrinkled pants. I would be terrified to see a situation in which I’d lose.”

Lydia just glared at him. “Great, now put your shirt on. We have forty-five minutes to get you dressed and to the venue. Peter, go get dressed yourself.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Peter said sarcastically, moving past Stiles and Lydia to the door. “For the record, he would have wrinkled his shirt too, but I made him take it off.”

“Congratulations Peter, I’ll sprinkle more sand in the jar marked ‘Peter sucking up to Lydia for using her to resurrect himself’” Lydia gave Peter a decidedly wolfish grin and he just left the bedroom shaking his head. She turned to Stiles who was tucking his shirt into his pants with an amused look on his face. “How are you so relaxed? Your default setting is anxious.” Lydia said, slapping his hands out of the way so she could finish buttoning his pants and reached for his belt.

“You seem to be doing a phenomenal job of being anxious for me.” Stiles rolled his eyes, “I’m not marrying a stranger, Lydia, I’m marrying Derek. We’re already werewolf married, and that was a year and a half long production. After fighting off alphas for a year before that, getting human married seems sort of anticlimactic.” Stiles yawned and reached up to run a hand through his hair, a hand which Lydia also slapped away, causing her to drop the knot she was tying. Stiles sighed and grabbed her hands gently. “I can tie my own tie, Lyds.” He kissed her forehead gently. “I appreciate all the work you’ve put into this. I swear one day I’ll repay the favor somehow. For now, just trust me that everything is going to be fine.”

“Trust you because you’re my best friend, or trust you because you’re the spark mage alpha-mate son of a strong clairvoyant?” Lydia said with an amused grin, stepping back as Stiles finished tying his tie, handing him his jacket, which he slipped into before settling in the chair Peter had occupied to pull on his socks and shoes.

“Trust me because It’s my wedding, so everyone should really be expecting a disaster.” Stiles shrugged, standing up, “How do I look?”

“I’d fuck you.” Jackson, dressed in his own suit-and-tie getup, his tie the same forest green as Lydia’s dress, said from the doorway. “Thirty-five minutes to show time, babe.” He kissed the top of Lydia’s head and headed out of the room.

Stiles cocked an eyebrow, glancing at Lydia, “Has he gotten the ‘be careful what you wish for in this pack’ talk yet? Because if you were down we could ask him to make good on that statement.”

Lydia just laughed to herself, shaking her head, “I’ll be sure that he gets it before you get back from training.” She reached up, settled her hands onto Stiles’ shoulders and stared into his eyes for a long moment, tears welling up in her own. “I can’t believe you’re getting married.” She said softly. “To Derek Hale.”

Stiles definitely did not have to vanish tears to keep up his calm appearance, “Can I go do that now? I think I’ve been begging to be allowed to see him for over twenty-four hours.” 

Lydia nodded, kissing his cheek – he had called the lipstick thing – and tugging him out of the bedroom towards the waiting car. 

\--

Of all the things Derek expected to happen on his wedding day, running late was not on the list. He knew the schedule backwards and forwards. He’d been the one to format the schedule on the goddamn programs. He knew he was supposed to be standing at front of a sea of chairs in a large, wooded, secluded and magically warded portion of central park that the pack and various friends had been working on for weeks to prepare for the ceremony, at exactly 5pm. He and Stiles were both supposed to be there, Marian Cashell was also supposed to be there, officiating the ceremony. 

Marian was the oldest emissary in the country, and one of the first mentors Stiles had encountered in his trek from Beacon Hills. She was a powerful sorceress and was well respected across the country. It had been Stiles’ idea to ask her to marry them, and she had agreed much more readily than Derek had expected her to. Derek had vague memories of her when his mother was the alpha but didn’t really know her well. His meeting with her earlier in the day had been pleasant, and he trusted Stiles’ decision to bring her on. 

So, seeing as it was five PM and they were just now being dropped at the entrance to the park – a ten-minute walk to the ceremony location – meant he was officially late. Late for his own wedding. He was going to murder his sister. 

“Derek, relax. I’ve texted Lydia, she knows we’re on our way. Her explicit instructions were to absolutely not run or shift, but to get there in one piece, clothing intact.” Cora’s navy blue dress had a long slit up one of her legs, and she slipped her phone back into some kind of holster she’d fashioned for it – never one to have her hands burdened with a purse. “He’s not going to not marry you because you were ten minutes late.”

“I don’t know what was so fucking important we had to turn all the way back around to go get it.” 

“It’s a surprise.” Cora said with a wide smile, though her eyes were tinged with something Derek couldn’t quite place, “It’s important, I promise.” She had the large backpack she’d returned to the hotel for over the shoulder that her dress didn’t cross, and the only thing Derek could smell from the backpack was dirt.

Once they got to the break in the trees, and stepped past the warded barrier for the wedding, Derek stopped caring about the backpack or being late or literally anything in the world other than _Stiles._

The majority of the guests had taken their seats, but Stiles stood next to the tree stump at the front of the rows of chairs – chairs filled with more kinds of magical creatures and magic users than most people could probably rattle off the top of their heads. It had boggled Derek’s mind to see the number of RSVP’s they’d gotten from around the country. Mages, Sorcerers and Witches had been kind of expected. Various kinds of shifters of course, and even vampires weren’t that odd. Trolls, Selkies, a few glamoured centaurs and satyrs had sort of been a surprise. The biggest surprises were the fae and the elves, a handful of each had arrived in the city in the week leading up to the wedding. 

None of them compared to the man at the front, standing between Marian and his father, laughing with a pair of women in the front row of seats – women with pale, freckled skin and honey brown eyes that Derek suspected were the late Claudia Stilinski’s sisters. Stiles’ hair had been sculpted into place at some point, but it was clear that his habit of running his hands through it had won out in the end. It flopped around sort of messily around his face. He seemed relaxed, at ease, completely comfortable in the sea of overwhelming magic that made up the guest list of their wedding. The dark grey, red-edged suit jacket that Lydia and Peter had gotten made for the wedding fit him perfectly, stretching over shoulders he’d grown into, the pants fitting cleanly against legs that Derek dreamed about at night. Somehow, Derek wasn’t surprised that Stiles had gotten out of stuffy dress shoes, and instead wore a pair of dark red vans that matched the edging on the suit perfectly.

When Stiles looked up, meeting his eyes, the entire world slipped away, and the smile that spread across his face when he looked at Derek was no longer the wide, crowd pleasing smile, but the small i-love-you-so-much grin. Derek couldn’t help returning it, watching Stiles’ golden-honey eyes sparkle in the late afternoon sun. 

“Derek.” Cora snapped him out of his poetic thoughts about the man he loved and pushed him down the aisle towards them. John Stilinski took his seat. Cora pushed him so he was standing across from Stiles, and Marian, with Stiles’ help, climbed atop the small tree stump, hands folded in front of her. “Before we get started,” Cora started with a grin at the crowd, unzipping the backpack and pulling out a large plastic bag of dirt. Derek and Stiles both raised an eyebrow, almost in concert, as she opened the bag, told them both to step back, and poured it onto the ground in front of the tree stump, flattening it out with one of her feet. 

“Dirt.” Derek said softly, accusingly. “We were late for a bag of dirt.”

Cora just grinned, moved towards her seat with the backpack and bag and motioned to Peter, who stood up with a grin at his nephew and Stiles. “Thank you all for coming here today.” He started, “Traditionally, werewolf weddings take place in the center of a territory, the center of the land that belongs to the pack. That was tricky in our case, given a number of factors, and being in New York, so we’ve improvised. Instead of going to the territory, we brought the territory to our alphas.” He motioned down to the dirt at their feet, “Dirt from the Hale lands in Beacon Hills, from John Stilinksi’s back yard, from Talia Hale’s gardens, and from the roots of the Nemeton.”

The crowd had fallen silent as the weight of the gesture fell over them. They’d discussed briefly if going back to Beacon Hills for the wedding was the right thing to do, and while they both wanted it, wanted to be home, they knew that it was a logistical and social nightmare that Stiles was still not prepared to deal with. Both Stiles and Derek had to reach up to wipe away tears, throwing thankful glances at both of the Hale wolves before they stepped forward onto their patch of Beacon Hills, taking each-others hands as Marian started the formal ceremony.

The ceremony itself was short and sweet, and predictably, Stiles failed to get all the way through it without at least a few smart-ass comments. In the end, Derek replaced Stiles’ engagement ring with a new, magically reinforced white gold ring, with runes inscribed on the inside, the band inscribed with the triskele overlaid with the crecent moon that Stiles had long-ago adopted as his own symbol, a small sliver of moonstone disrupting the smooth metal of the band. Derek’s band was brushed black platinum inset with a line of rubies, inscribed with all the runes Stiles had once put on a hastily crafted crescent moon pendant and more. Stiles’ hands shook a bit as he slid it onto Derek’s finger, and Derek felt it warm with the thrum of power that Stiles pressed into the runes. 

Marian smiled when they were done, and held her arms out, “It is my sincere pleasure to formally announce that Alpha Derek Hale, son of Talia and Geoffrey Hale, and Alpha-Mate Mieczysław Stilinski-Hale, son of John and Claudia Stilinski are now married.”

The kiss that followed, Stiles decided, was absolutely worth waiting twenty-four hours for.

\--

After the ceremony, a clump of the guests – magic-users -- rapidly rearranged the chairs and the werewolves carried in tables that had been stashed elsewhere, transforming the location from ceremony to reception in less than fifteen minutes. 

Fifteen minutes that Stiles absolutely did not use run further into the trees, and sound and sight ward them so they could fuck right there. He wanted to, and he was pretty sure that if he managed to detach his husband’s face from his neck, where it had been buried since they got done helping Marian off the tree stump, Derek would have agreed to it, but every direction Stiles looked to run, someone seemed to be blocking their way. First it was Jackson, arms crossed, looking bored, then it was Faris who was on strict orders from Lydia to keep an eye on Stiles, and then finally it was Peter who just gave a chuckle and cocked his head to the side.

Stiles hated all of them. “Derek.” He said, tugging the alpha’s face away from his neck, “Apparently it’s considered bad manners to ditch your own wedding reception for sex.” Essentially all of the guests that possessed super-hearing laughed at Stiles’ words, and Stiles blushed, “But if you don’t get your face off of my neck, I’m going to put everyone here to sleep and we’re going to do it anyway.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?” Derek asked, leaning in for another kiss, which Stiles indulged him. “It’s a few hours, Stiles, we haven’t seen each other in months, we’ll be okay.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, “You’re telling me that if you thought we could get away with it, you wouldn’t want to.”

“I’ve learned,” Derek said, wrapping his arms around Stiles’ waist and pulling the mage so their bodies rested against each other, “this weekend that I apparently cannot get away with anything despite being the alpha of my pack.”

Stiles laughed, “Listen, at least you didn’t have Peter as a babysitter.” _I heard that, Stiles._

Derek kissed him again, “I love you.” He said, green-hazel eyes sparkling as he brought their faces close and pressed his cheek against Stiles’.

“I love you too.” Stiles responded with a smirk. 

Dinner – which a group of very confused catering staff dropped off – was quiet, conversation rolling around the clearing easily. Derek and Stiles sat at a table with Cora, Peter, Lupe Saburo the elf who had helped Peter kidnap-but-not Stiles years before, who was there as Peter’s guest, Lydia and Jackson, The nee-Gajos sisters, and John. As the meal was concluding, the Elf turned to Stiles and Derek, “Alphas.” He said softly, his face a mask of serenity, head bowed forward in respect. “I have a request, if you’re open to hearing it.”

Stiles turned to Derek, and Derek turned to Peter, whose pleased grin was edging towards crazed. “Peter, what did you do?” Stiles said, narrowing his eyes. 

“I didn’t do anything.” Peter said, smile not faltering.

“Don’t lie to them, Peter.” Lupe said softly, hands folded delicately in front of him, “I’ve been seeing Peter casually for a number of years now.” Derek blinked and Stiles gaped, “And recently, we’ve discussed the possibility of becoming more serious. As you know, Stiles, it’s rare for elves to separate from the kingdom, largely because elves, like wolves, are communal creatures. Family and community are sacred.” Stiles cocked an eyebrow but didn’t comment, “However, after much discussion with Peter and with my family, I’d like to formally request to join your pack.” 

“To be with Peter.” Derek said, critically. Cora snorted into her wine. 

Peter rolled his eyes, “Is it so difficult to believe that maybe someone might actually be interested in me.”

“Other than your murderous ex?” Stiles said with a shit-eating grin.

“My murderous ex, who is the mother of your ex?” Peter rebutted with a similar grin.

“Okay, okay.” John said, holding out his hands, “Let’s not turn a wedding into a pissing match.”

Lupe simply sat back against his chair chuckling, “Think about it. I know that it’s a bit unorthodox, but it’s a level of freedom that elves rarely achieve. I’d be safe in the Hale pack, I’d have a community and I’d get to be with Peter.”

Stiles sat forward, glancing at Peter and Derek before his eye settled on Lupe, “Is your mother okay with this?”

Lupe leaned forward, mirroring Stiles’ position, raising one regal eyebrow, “My mother only agreed because it’s your pack.” 

“I swear at one point this was my pack.” Derek said, frowning into his own glass of wine. He gave a half-glare at Cora before he turned to Lupe, “If you’re sure, I’m happy to have you. Did you want to do this now, in front of half the ranking wolves in the country, or would you prefer privacy?” From his position, it seemed an awful lot like Stiles and Lupe were having an entire conversation with just their eyes and facial expressions.

Lupe broke eye contact with Stiles to turn to Derek, “That’s your call, alpha. I’m not shy. Public engagements aren’t foreign to me.” 

Stiles snorted and Peter chuckled into his wine. Derek threw them both a confused glance before he climbed to his feet, tugging Stiles up to stand next to him, eyes red. The werewolves around the clearing climbed from their chairs, beta’s with their heads bowed forward in respect. Lupe unfolded himself gracefully from the chair to kneel at Derek’s feet, head tilted up, bearing his throat to the alpha. Derek reached down to run his hand along Lupe’s throat, skin that felt softer somehow than a werewolf or a human. “Welcome to the pack, elf.” Derek gripped the back of Lupe’s neck and helped him to his feet. Stiles hugged him tightly and then returned to his seat. The wolves around the clearing clapped politely and then returned to their seats. 

Lupe, silver-blue eyes pleased, leaned down to give Peter a tight lipped, chaste kiss, but Derek didn’t miss the long-fingered hand that gripped tightly in the back of Peter’s hair. 

\--

Stiles had a wicked smile on his face as the pack returned to the town house after the ceremony, the other New York packs agreeing to clean up as a gift to the happy couple. As they got to the door, Derek stepped through, followed by Stiles, who turned around with that same wicked grin to look at Lydia, who was standing just outside the door jamb, “What did you do, Stiles?” She asked.

“Look,” Stiles slipped his hand to rest against Derek’s lower back, “You fuckers kept me away from him for the last more than twenty-four hours because of some stupid human superstition. You made Derek stay in a hotel the night before his own wedding, when his own bed – complete with fiancé – was like two miles away. Now, for the twenty-four hours after 5pm today, my last twenty-four hours in New York until Christmas, mind you, you all can go find somewhere else to stay, and I’m going to fuck my husband in every room of this townhouse. Every. Single. Room. The ward will unlock after 24 hours. I’ll see everyone for dinner tomorrow night.”

Derek debated pointing out that there were a lot of rooms in the house and that Stiles didn’t have a werewolf refractory period, but he chose instead to chuckle quietly and bury his face in Stiles’ neck as the pack argued for the right to come into the house. Stiles waved at them and tugged Derek upstairs, out of the view of the pack. “You might want to go see if you can find those candles you used after we mated.” He called out as they disappeared upstairs.


	11. Beacon Hills, Day 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You'd think that Stiles would learn about holding an inter-pack meeting in a place where two different sets of peace negotiations had failed but, well, here we are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, heads up
> 
> action-y scenes aren't really my forte. It's sort of hard to encompass everything that's happening in a big action-y fight scene in written word, or at least, it's not something I'm particularly good at. 
> 
> Also, I spend a lot of time kicking myself as I wrote this about 'oh well if person A had just done X' but I've decided that I've rewritten this chapter enough times so here it is, in all its imperfect glory.
> 
> next update on Sunday will be the LAST of the 'past' scenes, after that, it'll be all forward!

The old distillery hadn’t changed at all since the last time Stiles had seen it, aside from possibly acquiring a new layer of dust. The McCall pack stood with their backs to the wall where Scott had clawed the double circles years ago. Scott stood at the center, Malia to his immediate right. The werecoyote’s eyes were focused on Peter, an indescribable look on her face. To Scott’s left was Theo Raeken, looking cocky and smug as ever, his arms crossed across his chest as he flicked his eyes one by one across the Hale pack. Liam Dunbar, taller, a little more grown up, stood to Malia’s right, hands by his sides, relaxed, but his face still and focused.

Alan Deaton stood a few feet in front of the pack, the place of the emissary, the messenger. 

Stiles stood to Derek’s right for the moment, with Cora to his right and Peter on Derek’s left. He had silently surveyed the other pack for a few minutes once everyone had arrived. Content that there wouldn’t be any immediate bloodshed, he stepped forward, “I heard you came to visit me at the hospital, Scott.” He said evenly, standing between the McCall pack and his pack, taking his place as the emissary. 

“I thought Lydia was your emissary?” Scott replied, “She was the one doing all the talking at the hospital.”

“Lydia was acting as our emissary, seeing as our actual emissary was uh, in surgery dying.” Stiles smirked and tucked his hands into his pockets, grinning. “I didn’t come here to talk about places in the pack hierarchy, Scott. I came to give you a warning.”

“A warning, or a threat?” Theo said, stepping forward, earning himself a low growl from Derek. Stiles flicked his eyes to Theo for just a moment.

“Derek, I forgot you never got to meet the chimeras. Meet Theo Raeken. Resident pain in my ass.” Stiles moved towards Theo, whose smirk never faltered, “Theo, I know that you’ve apparently still got Scott convinced that you have some use, and you’re not a real werewolf, so you don’t know the first thing about polite werewolf society, but step the fuck back and let me finish speaking, I outrank you.”

“Emissaries don’t outrank a Left Hand, dumbass.” 

Stiles drew a long, deep breath before his left hand rose and he mimed a gripping motion, Theo’s eyes going wide and hands scrambling at the phantom hand on his throat. Scott stepped towards Stiles who held up a hand, turning to Theo, “So many fucking things in my life could have been different if you had just shut the fuck up.” He flashed his Alpha-mate eye and threw Theo to the ground before walking back to his own pack. 

Deaton had stepped to the left to check on Theo, and Stiles held up a hand, “He’ll be fine. Unless he’s more breakable than the average werewolf. His ego is probably more bruised than anything.”

“What did you come here for, Stiles?” Malia asked, crossing her arms over her chest and stepping closer to Stiles, flashing her eyes – still primarily blue, but the pupil of both were ringed with red – the realization of alpha-mate eyes in a shapeshifter. 

Stiles cocked his head to the side, “Well, color me impressed Malia.” He looked past her to Scott, “The Calaveras are here.” He said softly, flicking his eyes to Liam, “I suspect they’re only here for us, but someone made a promise that if the problems involved more than just our pack we would let the other packs in the area know. That’s you.”

“Made a promise to who?” Scott asked.

“Your mother.” Derek said, finally, “When she came to Sacramento to help with Stiles.” 

Scott looked down and away, confused, “When she…she said she was going away for a weekend.”

“She did.” Stiles shrugged, “So, now that we’ve given you the warning, we can leave.”

“Just the Calaveras, Stiles?” It was Deaton who spoke now, “Calling the first formal meeting in, what has it been, seven years? Seems a bit overkill just to warn us that there are potentially hunters in our territory.”

“Yeah, there’s always hunters in our territory.” Liam said, “Monroe makes sure of it.”

“Who is Monroe?” Stiles asked, glancing back at Peter.

“Gerard Argent’s Protégé.” Peter said with a grimace, “I thought she’d been chased from Beacon Hills but apparently not.”

“Oh, she’s gone.” Malia said, “She’s been gone, doesn’t dare show her face herself. But she sends squads in from time to time.”

“Have you warded the city so that you get a warning?” Stiles asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Have we what?” Theo asked, looking at Stiles and then Deaton. “Do you know what he means.”

“Stiles, not everyone’s pack has as many magic users as you do.” Deaton said, “I don’t have the strength to ward the entire town. I’ve warded specific buildings, places the pack frequents, but the whole town would be suicide.” 

“So groups of hunters just show up at random, and what do you do with them?” Stiles asked, looking directly at Scott, “What, Scott? Just make your pack do the dirty work? Liam’s eyes are still gold so I know he’s not killing them. I guess Malia and Theo take care of it for you?”

“They’re not exactly innocent people, Stiles.” Malia rolled her eyes.

“We take them to your dad, and he arrests them.” Scott said finally, staring at Stiles, watching the way he moved, the way he talked. He was so different. He was quieter and more still, pacing slightly. His eyes focused for longer, but he was always on guard, watching his wolves, watching Scott’s pack. His hands had come out of his pockets, one of them resting on what Scott assumed was a gun, the other laying by his side. He’d grabbed Theo and tugged him into the air without touching him. He’d held him there, cut off his air supply, and he hadn’t even broken a sweat. He commanded the Hale wolves and even Derek didn’t question his silent authority. “Who are you, Stiles?”

Stiles raised an eyebrow in a perfect imitation of Derek Hale – logical, as the two were married, “Who am I?” Stiles bit his bottom lip for a moment. “I’m exactly who I’ve always been, Scott. I’m a strategist. I’m a defender. I’m an advisor. I’m the person you let that bastard,” He pointed at Theo, “convince you was the bad guy. And sure, I play the bad guy from time to time, but this time I’m here to warn you, to maybe save your life.”

“Save our lives from who, Stiles? Who is the real threat?” Malia asked, “We fought the Calaveras before, we lived. Who has you scared?”

“Kate Argent.” It wasn’t Stiles who spoke, but Derek. “Kate is working with the Calaveras.”

“We have company inbound.” Peter said, tapping at an earpiece, “Lupe says at least ten, heavily armed. He’s not sure who they’re with, but they’re coming, and we need to go now. We need to get him out of here.” Peter grabbed Stiles’ shoulder and tugged him towards the exit. 

Stiles let Peter pull him away, but looked at Scott, “Your mom said you were different now, Scott. I should have known better.” He looked away from Scott just as soon as a grenade was tossed through the open space, landing between Derek and Scott. Stiles wrenched his shoulder from Peter’s grip and spun, throwing his arms out from his chest to use magic to push Derek and Scott away, his arms sweeping downwards once the wolves had been flung away, forcing the grenade deep into the ground when it finally went off. The ground shook beneath them. 

“Everyone okay?” Stiles asked, looking up for Derek’s nod before turning to see Malia helping Scott to his feet. “Looks like we’re fighting our way out of here after all.” Stiles reached Derek and grabbed for his left hand, pressing two fingers against the metal of Derek’s wedding ring, “Cora, Peter, come here.” He poured extra power into Derek’s anti-impact rune. He kissed Derek hard before turning to reach for Peter’s necklace and doing the same, giving him a nod before grabbing at the cuff on Cora’s wrist.

“Are you going to be too weak?” Derek asked softly. “You’re still not at 100%.” 

Stiles dropped Cora’s wrist and turned to Derek, “Keeping that up is a bit tricky, but I’ll be okay.” He nodded back to the doorway, which shimmered with Stiles’ blockade. Stiles turned to the McCall Pack, “Let the Hale wolves go first, they’ll distract them. Then you run.” 

“What, are they bullet proof, Stilinski?” Theo asked.

“First of all, It’s Stilinski-Hale.” Stiles said, “And uh, basically? Would you like a demonstration?” Stiles pulled out his gun quickly and shot towards Peter’s shoulder. The bullet impacted, but fell to the ground, unable to cut through the shield that appeared a hairs breadth from Peter’s skin. The wolf grunted and looked back over his shoulder at Stiles. “See, just a bruise.”

“An unnecessary bruise.” Peter growled. “Can we go?” He was partially shifted and itching for a fight. Cora was quiet next to him, eyes flaring gold as she stood behind Stiles’ shield, waiting for the shimmering plane to disappear. Derek joined his relatives, giving one last look at Stiles before launching himself through the shield seconds before Stiles dropped it. In other situations, Stiles might have snorted at Derek ‘showing off’ his ability to slip through Stiles’ magic. Stiles dropped to one knee, gun in hand, the epitome of cool and collected, firing with a purpose. 

When the group of hunters were sufficiently distracted by the heavily shielded and terrifyingly lethal Hale wolves, Stiles motioned for the McCall pack to go. Theo, Malia and Liam launched themselves forward, taking down the few hunters that remained. Scott, who had been speaking with Deaton, hesitated for a moment, turning back from the entrance to look at Stiles with a sad look on his face. He turned his head when Stiles’ eyes widened, and his finger tightened on the trigger of his gun but he faltered. When Scott’s head made the turn he was looking at Kate Argent, with a gun pressed against his head. 

“Try anything and I pull the trigger McCall.” Kate drawled. She had a taser pressed to his side and turned it on, drawing Scott out of his shift and bringing him to his knees. She looked at Stiles and beamed. “Good to know you’re still so predictable, Stiles. You’ll still hesitate to save Scott’s life, even if it could cost you your own.” 

Ignoring the depth and the meaning in those words, Stiles’ attention turned from Kate to the third person who had remained in the distillery, pulling himself up to his full height. “Fucking Deaton. Y’know, I was trying to figure it out, how you knew so much. How Scott’s pack was able to find me at the hospital that night, how despite the fact that we had kept this meeting tight lipped, you knew that there was more to it than just the Calaveras. How hunters made it through the fucking preserve to this tiny building in the middle of nowhere and held off until we were done speaking to make their move. How long have you been planning this, Deaton?”

The druid gave Stiles a tight-lipped look, “My understanding was that they would help us remove the Hale pack from our territory, not that my own alpha would be threatened, Kate.” Deaton looked past Stiles to Kate, who just gave a small shrug.

“Do your part, Deaton, and maybe I’ll let your precious Alpha live. Kepa told me he gave them to you.”

“Gave what to you, Deaton?” Stiles said, turning his gun on the druid. His eyes caught a flash of movement in his periphery and he thrust an arm out to knock Derek back. Kate’s smirk grew wider, and her nostrils flared as she drank in Derek’s scent. “Derek, she’ll kill him.” He said, turning back to Deaton. “Who is Kepa, and what did he give you?”

“The magic user who has been helping us.” Kate answered, “And he worked out how to contain you a little more effectively than the cage. Put the cuffs on him, Deaton. NOW.” 

Stiles didn’t lower the gun as Deaton approached. “Put it down, Stiles, give me your arms.”

“So you can put magic cuffs on my arms? No, fuck you.”

“She will kill Scott.” Deaton said, eyes wide with fear. 

“And I’m going to kill you.” Derek growled from outside the distillery, holding his position albeit angrily. He had one hand firmly clamped on Malia’s shoulder, the werecoyote spitting with anger and trying to get to Scott. 

“How long have you been at this, Deaton? How long did it take for you to call up Kate and her benefactors? We have done NOTHING to warrant this. Most of us haven’t set foot in Beacon Hills in seven years or more.”

“There was only one reason for the Hales to be back.” Deaton said softly, “Eventually you would have tried to take the town back.”

“We didn’t come back to California for fucking Beacon Hills.” Stiles rolled his eyes, “I got a transfer to Sacramento to be closer to my dad, but not in this town.”

Deaton’s eyes widened minutely, “ _You_ made the decision to move.” 

“The PACK made the decision to move once my transfer to Sacramento was finalized. I was going to come alone. We decided together that moving back west was the right choice. We had no interest in Beacon Hills.” Stiles turned to Scott, “I left Beacon Hills seven years ago with no intention of ever coming back.” Scott’s eyes fell to the dirt.

“Deaton, why didn’t you talk to me about this?” Scott said, panting but still under the barrel of Kate’s gun. “We could have discussed this; I could have told you that it wasn’t what you thought.”

“Will everyone shut the fuck up already?” Kate fired a warning shot next to Scott’s head, loud enough to make his ear ring, and the bullet that came out of her gun stank of wolfsbane and mistletoe. “One shot, that’s all it’ll take. One shot to the head to kill an Alpha.” She turned the taser back on, pressing it into Scott’s side again.

Deaton looked at Stiles with pleading eyes. Stiles looked up at the sky and rolled his eyes, holstering his gun and holding out his arms. The black metal cuffs split into two pieces and then sealed into a single solid piece as they encircled his wrists. Stiles winced as the cuff rubbed at his still raw wrist. As soon as the cuffs were on, he tried to push Deaton back with magic and throw Kate away from Scott at the same time.

But nothing happened. Seconds later, the magic spiraled back into his wrists from the cuffs and Stiles fell to his knees with a shout of pain. His fragile left wrist was already bleeding, and his right one felt raw from the burst of power. “Oh, fuck.” He looked up at Derek with sorrow-filled brown eyes.

Kate cackled, “Good, they work. Now, toss away any weapons and come with me, Stiles.” She kept the gun to Scott’s head, the taser against his ribs, and tugged him towards a path in the woods, immediately blocked by Liam and Theo. “Tell your wolves to stand down, Scott. Tell them to wait here like good puppies. Same for you, Stiles, we don’t need them yet. Just you and Scott, for old times’ sake.”

Scott held up a hand and flashed his eyes at Theo and Liam. “Just stay here. Stay with the Hales, stay safe. Keep Malia safe, please.” Scott and Kate headed down the path, and Malia wrenched herself out of Derek’s grasp to fly towards it. Liam caught her, wrapping both of his arms around her gently, Theo stood in front of her, and after a moment of trying to fight Liam’s grasp, Malia’s head fell forward to rest on Theo’s shoulder.

Stiles pushed himself to his feet as Deaton stepped to follow Kate, wringing his hands, “Kate, I agreed to help because you were going to push them from our territory. You have Stiles now, let Scott go.”

Kate shook her head, not turning around, “Don’t follow us, Deaton, or you’ll be killed too. Anyone follows us, and they’ll all be killed. Stiles, I’ll be nice, and give you three minutes to say your goodbyes. Until then, Scott and I will be waiting at the end of the path where we have a bit more... security. He dies in three minutes, Stiles.”

Stiles stared at the ground and shook his head, handing his gun to Derek without a word. Derek’s hands shook as he took it. He slipped his belt of powders off, pulling out a small vial and downing it quickly, something to help numb the ache in his wrists without using magic. He dropped the belt onto the ground, “Lupe should probably carry that, to be safe.” He whispered softly. He slid his sidearm out from his ankle holster and handed it to Cora, who stood dumbfounded beside her brother, before finally looking up to meet Derek’s angry red eyes. “I have to go.” Stiles said softly.

“It’s just Scott. He’s the one who hurt you, you don’t have to go. I’m sure Lupe and Faris could get those cuffs off of you, or we could call Queen Maricella again. Please, Stiles. Don’t do this. Don’t play into their hands. You promised, Stiles. You promised you weren’t going to disappear.” Derek was begging. It broke something inside Stiles.

“Just Scott.” Malia spat, eyes burning into Stiles, “As if that means nothing to you. He’s changed, Stiles, he doesn’t deserve to die for _his_ crimes.” She tilted her head to Deaton, her arms still restrained by Liam’s grasp. “Though, he’ll be dying for his own crimes shortly.” 

Deaton had reflexively dropped a perfect circle of mountain ash, crouching in the center of it, terrified. 

“I’m going, Malia.” Stiles said, and then he leaned up to kiss Derek fiercely. “Find me. I know you will. On my computer, tell Lydia to place MY distress call. You’re going to need all the help you can get.” He cupped the alpha’s cheek softly. “I love you. I know you can do this, Derek.”

“I love you.” Derek said, gripping the mage tightly, “Stiles…”

“I have to, Derek. Its…” Stiles’s fists clenched. “It’s Scott. Tell the pack and tell my Dad that I love him.” Stiles pushed his way out of Derek’s arms, reached up to touch Cora’s face softly and then turned to jog in the direction that Kate had taken Scott.

Derek watched him until he could no longer hear him rustling through the forest, and then he spun on Deaton, eyes glowing angrily red. “You can’t stay in that circle forever.” He said.

“And he won’t get to.” It was Theo who spoke, and Deaton clearly realized his own mistake as he turned towards him. “But before I do this, I gotta ask, are we sure killing him is the right thing to do?”

“Who are you, McCall?” Peter asked, standing next to Lupe as they entered the clearing. The McCall wolves eyed the elf warily, but nobody said anything as Lupe immediately swept forward to pick up Stiles’ discarded belt, securing it around his waist and touching the buckle gently, looking down at it sadly. 

“You do your pack’s dirty work too, Peter.” Theo said, turning to him, “So I would have thought you of all people would have recognized the need for interrogation. I’m happy to just let Malia and Derek kill him, but I do think there’s information to be gained.”

“Fair point, I suppose.” Peter shrugged one shoulder and considered. He held out his hand to Cora, “Stiles’ gun, please.” 

Cora handed it back. Peter lazily fired a shot directly into Deaton’s thigh. The man fell to his knees with a cry. “Go ahead, ask your questions.” Peter’s eyes were flashing, and he moved closer to Lupe, who immediately brought a hand up to rest at the nape of Peter’s neck. Peter relaxed minutely into the touch, watching the situation with tired but focused blue eyes.

“Who exactly is involved in this?” Derek asked, walking in a slow circle just outside of the mountain ash barrier, beta-shifted and furious.

“I reached out to Araya first. I asked her to help move a pack out of nearby territory. She asked me which pack and when I told her that it was yours, she sounded pleased. She told me she’d need to reach out to a few contacts, but they had a plan in mind.” Deaton pressed into the bullet wound, eyes squeezed tightly shut, “I didn’t know Kate was involved until after you got Stiles out of his first kidnapping. Kate came to me and threatened to kill me, accused me of tipping you off to Stiles’ location. I wouldn’t have worked with them if I --” 

“What did Kate want?” Derek asked. 

“Kate wanted Stiles. She wouldn’t say why. She just kept saying that Stiles had something that should have been hers.”

Cora growled, “ So we were right, they are using Stiles to get to Derek.”

“And, it’s working.” Theo said with a smirk, earning himself a growl from all three the Hale wolves and a sneer from Lupe. 

“How could you betray your pack, Deaton? Why would you do this without talking to Scott?” It was Malia’s turn to talk this time, eyes flashing red-and-blue fiercely, “After everything we’ve been through, how dare you.”

“I did talk to Scott. Scott didn’t know it was Stiles, or that I had called the Calaveras. He didn’t know it was the Hales. I told him that there was a pack of new wolves and that I was working on a plan to protect the territory. By the time he found out it was the Hales, it was too late for me to back out. He made me promise they wouldn’t be hurt. That’s the only lie I told.” Deaton was losing a lot of blood, and quickly. “Please, I’m going to die.” 

“Lupe, darling, would you be so kind as to close the wound for me?” Peter turned to the elf beside him and patted him on the arm.

The elf glared at the druid before lifting his hand to cast the healing spell, Deaton’s face contorting with pain as the bullet flew out of his leg and his flesh knit itself back together. When the druid could breathe again, he looked back to Malia, “I didn’t intend to betray the pack. Scott was never a part of the plan. It was always supposed to be the Hale pack only.”

“Stiles would never have gone alone.” Cora said, “He would never have left Derek willingly, who were they going to take?”

“Without his magic, what choice would he have had?” Deaton asked.

“Without his magic, he’s still an FBI agent, dumbass. He still fights and trains with werewolves. He holds his own against all of us except Derek without using a drop of magic.” Cora was growling, inches from the edge of the circle. “But why Scott? Stiles doesn’t even like him. Why not Derek, or me, or even Lydia? WHO?” The last word came out a roar. 

“It was supposed to be the Sheriff.” Deaton said, resigned. Derek roared and reached for his phone as new footsteps entered the clearing. He turned to see John Stilinski, flanked by the Argents, stepping into the open space by the distillery. John looked up at Deaton and then to Derek, realizing who was missing in the clearing, anguish building in his eyes. Cora sprinted towards him, pulling him into her arms. The Sheriff crumpled into her grasp. Allison moved closer and leaned her head against John’s shoulder, speaking softly.

“The Calaveras tried to take him from the station.” Chris called across the clearing, one hand on John’s back, a soothing touch. “Parrish took a lot of the bullets, but he’ll be okay, your other mage is with him now. We showed up to clear them out. No casualties of the uninformed.” Derek nodded to the elder Argent and turned back to the druid.

“Theo, break the circle.” Malia said, looking up at the chimera. “Break the circle so I can tear his head off. How could you have risked the Sheriff? Of all people? After EVERYTHING he’s done for this pack even without Stiles. After everything he’s done for Scott despite EVERYTHING. You monster.” 

“Beheadings are too messy.” Peter said, patting his daughter on the shoulder softly, “Much easier to just cut the jugular and let him bleed out.”

“I don’t care.” Malia cried, throwing herself at the mountain ash circle. Liam reached up to grab her by the arms again, tugging her back against his chest and restraining her. “He deserves to die for this.”

“I can help you get them back.” Deaton said, wrapped around himself with his hands up.

“How can you help?” Peter said, frowning, “You lost, Deaton. Kate had to take Scott because Araya failed to get John. You worked with hunters, with Kate Argent, betrayed your own pack and cost my alpha his mate for the SECOND time in less than a month, and cost your own pack their alpha. Your death is justified so many ways that even Scott wouldn’t object.”

“Actually, Scott probably would, for a minute.” Theo said with a smirk, stepping into the circle of mountain ash, lifting Deaton to his feet. “But Scott isn’t here right now, is he, Deaton.” He threw Deaton out of the circle towards Derek. “Consider this an act of good faith.”

Derek didn’t hesitate, claws slashing through Deaton’s throat before the man could move away, before another word could escape his mouth. He threw the body to the ground and wiped his hand on his T-shirt. “John, I’m going to get him back.” He called out, and the Sheriff lifted his head off of Cora’s shoulder to give him a nod, “I swear it.”

“ _We’re_ going to get _them_ back.” Malia said, shaking her way free of Liam’s arms. “It’s not just Stiles. They took Scott too. Whether you like it or not, we’re going to have to work together.”

“Have to, no.” Peter said, smiling, “But if you can actually be useful, we might let you help.”

“I just stepped through a mountain ash barrier.” Theo said, shrugging, “Doesn’t that qualify me as useful?”

“Elves can get through barriers like that, and more.” Lupe said with a dismissive glance. “Besides that, we have another mage and a banshee. Plus the Argents.”

“For now, we need to fall back, get somewhere safe, and make a plan.” Chris Argent said, nodding at Derek, “It’s a good thing Allison called. Looks like you’re going to need all the help you can get.”

\--

By the time Stiles had made it to the end of the path Kate had taken, Scott was restrained hand and foot by mountain ash wood cuffs that were, by the looks of his wrists, soaked in a wolfsbane solution. Stiles glanced up at the alpha and was somewhat surprised to see an expression of shock on his face. “What?”

“I kind of expected you to run.” Scott said, pressing his lips together and shrugging one shoulder, “I didn’t expect you to give a shit about me.”

“Yeah, that makes two of us.” Stiles said darkly, stepping closer to Scott to study the bindings, swearing as he pulled at the locks, but they wouldn’t budge. He should probably have seen that coming, bindings made for werewolves that broke under human strength were kind of pointless. “Where did Kate go?”

“She’s talking to Araya Calavera – something about Argent interference.” Scott closed his eyes, listening intently to the quiet voices, “I think they took me because…Chris and Allison Argent, and Jordan, stopped them from getting the hostage they actually wanted. And Araya is mad because now they have to deal with an alpha instead of just a human.” Scott’s eyes opened, giving a small smile.

“Who was their hostage supposed to be?” Stiles asked, but he already knew the answer. He knew who he had sent Allison to defend, who Chris would have shown up from France to protect, guns blazing. “Who, Scott?”

Scott looked away and mumbled in a quiet voice, “Your dad.” His eyes snapped back to Stiles, jolting slightly from some invisible force that Stiles didn’t see. He stumbled slightly, bound hands flinching towards his chest. Stiles grabbed his shoulders to steady him, “Deaton…” Scott said softly, furrowing his eyebrows, “I think Deaton is dead.”

Stiles considered for a moment, studying his own pack bonds, feeling mostly a hot, burning anger from Derek, but a sense of quiet satisfaction from Peter. “Yeah, if I had to guess, Derek killed him. Given all of this, it’s justified.” He shrugged, “Sorry, Scott. I’ll help you find a new emissary if we survive this. One a little less…cryptic.” 

“Oh, don’t worry, Stiles. If you survive this, you can be Scott’s new emissary.” Kate sauntered back over with a sick smile, “Though, honestly, whether or not you survive isn’t really my concern. As long as the mate bond you have with Derek gets broken, I’m not really picky how it happens.”

Stiles resisted the urge to close his eyes and swallowed hard, glaring at Kate. “You can’t break an alpha-mate bond.” She couldn’t. The only person who could break an alpha-mate bond was the alpha who initiated it. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure, Stilinski.” 

Stiles bit back the urge to correct his name. “I could practically write the book on alpha-mate bonds, seeing as I’ve been one for six years, Kate. I’m sure.” 

Kate just shrugged. “We’ll see about that.” She gave another sick smile and motioned towards the back of an SUV. “Get in, both of you. Any attempts to escape, Stiles, and Araya assures me that we have a yellow wolfsbane bullet with Scott McCall’s name on it. And this time, it won’t go in his chest, it’ll go in his head.”

“You are aware that Scott and I haven’t been friends for like, the better part of a decade?” Stiles asked, crossing his arms over his chest, “Why him? If you wanted leverage, why not Derek? Why not Lydia?” 

Kate raised an eyebrow, “Lydia is too dangerous.” Scott scoffed at the idea that Lydia was more dangerous than he was, “And too difficult to contain. And Derek being alive is important to me. So, we couldn’t have a hostage that I wouldn’t actually be willing to kill. Besides.” Kate leaned forward to pat Stile’s cheek, but he dodged away, “You’re here, aren’t you?”

Stiles sighed, rolled his eyes and climbed into the back of the SUV without another word. She was right. He was here, risking his own life to protect Scott McCall. Again.


	12. New York City, Day -442

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How the Hale pack got to Sacramento after all. With a side of wendigos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YALL
> 
> I finished the story tonight. It's done, it's written, all 95k of it. 
> 
> So, in honor of that, here's the last "past" chapter as a bonus update! It's all the future from here. 
> 
> And, some of the upcoming chapters are fairly long. Chapter 15 is like 6.5k by itself. 
> 
> I'm so relieved its done!!! 
> 
> See y'all on Sunday.

Stiles and Derek spend two weeks in December in Fiji, as far away from the concerns of their pack or the real world as they possibly could be. They snorkel and they hike and they fuck and it’s everything Stiles could have imagined being married to Derek would be like, with 95% less responsibilities. Stiles, however, because he’s Stiles, meets a sorcerer who lives on the Island, and loses at least a single day of the trip sharing knowledge and learning. Derek obliges him, because if there’s one thing his mate loves, it’s learning. 

They return to New York just after New Years to find that the pack has everything under control. Stiles leaves for Quantico on the second, and the pack settles in. Jackson takes and passes the Bar. Lydia completes the first year of her PhD. Isaac enrolls in a Masters of Social Work program. Lupe and Peter debate, briefly, getting their own apartment, but settle for renovating the suite of rooms Peter already occupied to suit both of them. Lupe settles into the pack beautifully – a calm, caring presence that is apparently impervious to the kind of goat-getting that both Stiles and Peter are proficient in. Cora quickly labels him her favorite uncle, and Peter glares, but his wolf preens at his mate’s acceptance by the pack.

Peter sometimes works as reviewer for a publishing house, but the work doesn’t take him long and it leaves him plenty of time for his duties managing the pack while Derek, Stiles, and Cora are all working. He doesn’t mind. It’s not the kind of power he once would have dreamed of, the power he went mad seeking, but it’s the kind of power he’s good at – pulling strings behind the scenes, organizing, keeping his pack safe. He gets a different kind of pleasure out of the pack just… thriving. Stiles has enough power in his little finger to put Peter down if he so chose, and he’s happy to remind Peter of that, and that actually makes Peter feel safe for the first time since he smelled smoke all those years ago. He knows Lydia has never forgiven him for what he did to her, and probably never will. Sometimes, he thinks about asking Derek and Cora if he’s been forgiven for killing Laura yet, but the answer sinks in before he asks the question – he will never forgive himself for killing Laura. 

Stiles announces delightedly that his first field office placement is in New York City. So, for 18 months, for the first time, the entire pack lives together, and they operate well. It’s peaceful. Lydia and Jackson get married in a beautifully lavish elopement in the mountains with just the pack and Lydia’s mother. She agrees to take Jackson’s name, but puts it before hers, instead of after because ‘all of my papers are published as Martin and I’m not risking recognition for anything, Jackson.’ Cora graduates with a degree in Biology and then decides to go a completely different direction and signs up to take a training course to be an EMT. Isaac becomes a social worker, specializing in helping abuse survivors, and Jackson gets a partnership with am prestigious law firm. Lydia graduates with her PhD and Derek quits his job so they can open a financial firm together. 

Near the end of his 18-month stint at the New York field office, Stiles comes home from work and immediately calls a pack meeting. They have dinner together nearly every night but a formal pack meeting, called by the alpha-mate feels like a bigger deal, and it’s put everyone on edge. Stiles sits on the arm of an armchair in the den, Derek’s hand resting gently against his husband’s back, though his face was contorted with worry. 

“I’m being transferred.” Stiles said softly. “And none of you are going to like it.” Nobody says anything, “I’m being placed at the Sacramento field office. I asked for Seattle or Los Angeles – somewhere so I could see my dad more regularly. What I got offered was Sacramento. It’s fifty miles from Beacon Hills, from my dad, I could see him every weekend.” There is a fierce look in Stiles’ eyes. “I love you all, please know that, but god I miss my dad. Everyone doesn’t have to go, I can go by myself and just split my time, like I was doing in Virginia.”

For a long moment, nobody says anything. Peter had pulled out his phone and was looking into something. Lydia and Jackson were having a long, silent conversation with just their eyes. Cora was studying Derek’s face and Isaac’s hands were wringing against each other. 

“Peter.” Derek said, waiting for the beta to look up, “Are there currently any packs in the greater Sacramento area?” 

Peter smiled, “None that have officially laid claim to the city, no. My records indicate a few resident vampires, a couple of omegas with no violent history, and a coven of witches as formally acknowledging Sacramento as their home.”

Derek nodded and looked up at Stiles, who was staring down at Derek, expression shifting, “Do you want me to challenge McCall for Beacon Hills, or would settling in Sacramento be okay?”

Stiles’ eyes go wide. “No, we don’t need to challenge anyone. Beacon Hills is honestly a lot of work because of the Nemeton but – you’re serious.” He looked around the room, “All of you are willing to move?”

Cora shrugged, “I can be an EMT anywhere, Stiles. If being closer to John is going to make you happy, it seems like a good idea in my book. Just don’t get mad if we borrow your dad from time to time. He’s kind of great.” Isaac nods in agreement.

“Derek and I can run the consulting firm from anywhere, people will travel, or we can do digital meetings.” Lydia says, turning her head to look at Jackson. It’s no secret that going back to California has never been in Jackson’s plans.

Jackson gives her a small smile, “People need criminal defense attorneys everywhere.” He said, turning to Stiles with a nod. 

Faris, Lupe and Peter, who essentially work for the pack, all murmur general agreement. 

Stiles stands up and gives everyone a bright smile, a kind of weightless, carefree smile that Stiles saves just for the pack. “Thank you all.” He said, “I’m gonna go call my dad.”

\--

Moving to Sacramento was significantly easier than Stiles had ever expected it to be. Lupe, Peter, Faris, Cora and Isaac had gone ahead to secure a place for the pack to live and do any necessary renovations. Lupe and Faris set rudimentary protection wards that would be replaced as soon as Stiles arrived to do the warding himself. Lydia and Derek coordinated packing and moving the majority of the New York townhouse and then accompanied the goods to Sacramento, despite Lydia’s protests about having to drive cross country. Once the house was empty, Stiles warded it for long term storage, Jackson settled any accounts and finished any remaining paperwork for his New York clients. The two formally announced their departure from the New York City pack alliance and flew out to Sacramento the next day. 

The whole thing was just easy. The pack worked together remarkably well after so many years of cohabitation and close contact. Derek and Lydia had already acquired a new office space and hired some local financial consultants to work for them at Hale & Martin, the first time they’d ever had employees. Cora and Isaac insinuated themselves into their chosen fields in Sacramento with ease. Jackson signed on with a local firm that was flexible about his loyalty but had heard of his work in New York City and were eager to have them on their team. Faris had made contact with the local witch coven, and at least one of them had to have liked him, because baked goods were showing up in their lobby at an alarmingly regular rate. Really, the whole thing was perfect.

Until the wendigos happened. 

Everything else about Stiles joining the Sacramento field office had gone smoothly – he came highly recommended, specializing in particularly obscure (read: supernatural) crimes and was particularly good at codebreaking and seeing connections in cases that other detectives struggled to piece together. He had picked up linguistics at the academy, and readily excelled at the art of reading into the way people wrote. He’d cracked a cipher on a big case just as he was leaving New York, and had spent the plane ride analyzing the decoded message. The week he arrived in Sacramento, the agents back in New York had made an arrest. The Sacramento office had congratulated him on it when he arrived. His new partner, Grant Thomas, had a clean record, no known knowledge of the supernatural, and was generally regarded as a well-known, hardworking agent. 

After their briefing on the case, which was essentially a summary of what local law enforcement had uncovered by the branch chief, Stiles and Grant had stepped out of the office to go take a look around. Grant drove, having been in Sacramento for a year and a half already. 

“Why did you stay?” Stiles asked, taking a drag mostly cold coffee from the cup he’d poured at the office. Discreetly, he warmed it back up. “I can’t imagine Sacramento is that exciting?”

“It’s nothing like New York City.” Grant said, watching the road carefully as he drove, “But we get our fair share of weird shit. Sometimes San Fran asks us to come up and help out with stuff. We had some trouble with a local sheriff’s office about ten years back or so, Beacon something. But it’s a nice place. I like it. What about you? Did you mean to come to Sac?” 

Stiles blinked rapidly at the mention of ‘Beacon Something’ and knew far more about the ‘trouble’ that Grant was insinuating than he’d like to let on. “I asked for LA or Seattle. My dad lives nearby though, so I’m not mad about the placement. My husband and most of our close friends chose to move with us.” 

“Oh right, Stilinski-Hale, huh. Too long, I think I’ll just call you S-H.” Grant smirked and made a turn, pulling into a parking space for a local wildlife area. “This is where the victims keep getting taken from. There’s a group of transient people who make this place their home when its warm out. They say the three victims are all part of the community.”

Stiles nodded and climbed out, pulling sunglasses off the top of his head to place over his eyes and wandering into the park. “It’s pretty heavily wooded. Local PD give the transients any issues?” Stiles followed Grant down a trail. 

“Nah, mostly they stay out of each-others way. I think the victims get picked off at night, and when they stray from the camp though. Locals thought it was some kind of animal attack but there’s no wolves in California, and even mountain lions can’t tear people apart the way these guys were. It has to be human. Some kind of really fucked up human.”

“Most killers are pretty fucked up, don’t you think?” Stiles remembered the crime scene photos – the victims were often in multiple pieces, and Grant was right, it looked like they had been torn, rather than cut apart. “So, do we want to go talk to people, or go see the actual crime scenes?”

Grant flipped through his tablet, scanning down some notes, “Crime scenes, I think. Locals say that it happens at night, they hear the screaming, and nobody is brave enough to go see why. No gunshots, no weapons found at the scene, no fingerprints. Some weird hair and fiber evidence but it’s a forest. No ritual to the killings, no staging at the crime scenes.” Grant paused and grimaced, “None of the bodies have been completely intact. They’ve all had missing uh…”

Stiles looked over at the tablet. “Missing muscle groups? Is someone having them for dinner?”

Grant gave Stiles a hard look, “Let’s just go see the scene. You’re good at patterns and stuff, maybe you’ll find something that the evidence guys didn’t.” 

The first scene was just a clumping of three trees wrapped with mostly-torn caution tape. Any blood that had existed had been washed away by the elements. The first woman to die was Georgia Jones, 58, originally from San Francisco. Other than scratches on one of the trees, there was really nothing left as far as evidence for the months-old crime. Stiles took a picture of the scratches and discreetly sent it off to Peter with ‘supernatural?’ attached.

The next crime scene was newer, only a month old, and better preserved, with a plastic tarp staked down over the ground where the body parts had been strewn. Stiles lifted the corner of it to look beneath, grimacing at the scent of old blood that wafted up at him. Grant said nothing, just read off the details from the tablet. Joseph Yaldoo, age 30, originally from Sacramento, history of drug abuse and addiction, no violent crimes or arrests. Stiles carefully looked at each of the trees and sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. No scratches. His phone buzzed, and Peter’s response was just ‘images don’t have scents, Stiles.’ Stiles rolled his eyes and tucked his phone back away. 

The third crime scene, deeper into the nature area than the other two, was different. The crime scene tape – only a few days old – was fresh and the ground was still soaked with the victims blood beneath the tarp. The impressions in the ground from where the body had laid were still visible, all four of them. The third victim was Dawson Levitt, Age 38, originally from Jacksonville, Florida, no history of arrests or run-ins with the law. It was clear, however, from the clearing that he’d put up more of a fight than the others, the trees around the clearing bearing both a telltale impact mark from Mr. Levitt’s head, but also scratches again. 

“Is the killer wearing some kind of Wolverine weapon?” Stiles asked, casually, tracing over the various scratches. If he didn’t know better, they could be from werewolves, but the claws were thinner, and werewolves usually didn’t fillet portions of their kills for dinner. 

But wendigo’s did. 

Stiles spun around to tell Grant they needed to leave and then swore. Silently, so silently, two different Wendigo’s had appeared behind Grant, standing inches from him, staring with cold, white, pupil-less eyes. “Grant.” Stiles said softly, “Don’t move.” Wendigos were a problem, stronger than an average alpha, and bloodthirsty even when they weren’t feral.

Grant’s eyes had gone wide, and Stiles, focused now, power seeping into the runes that improved his sight and hearing, heard footsteps behind him. “What the fuck?” Grant said, “What the fuck is wrong with them?”

Stiles looked at Grant and then at the wendigo’s behind him, one of which had licked his lips. “Do you want an honest answer to the question, or do you want me to lie to you?” He asked, “You might not believe me either way, honestly.” 

Grant stared at Stiles, his green eyes searching Stiles’ for the joke. “You’ve seen people like this before?” 

Stiles was going to answer that they weren’t actually people, not once they’d reached the point of blatant cannibalism, but grunted before he could as one of them slammed into him from behind, throwing him to the ground. Stiles flipped quickly, using a blast of his power to toss the wendigo away and force the other one back. Wendigos were strong, but Stiles suspected these four weren’t doing well. He heard Grant’s gun go off rapidly, the tablet dropped to the forest floor. The wendigos, hardly even stunned by Grant’s human bullets, advanced on the agent. Stiles looked at Grant, hesitated for just a moment and then threw out a burst of power at the wendigos approaching him. The humanoids dropped to the forest floor, their ethereal white eyes falling closed. Stiles spun to do the same to the two that had attached him before grabbing the tablet, hauling Grant to his feet and heading back down the path. 

“What the fuck just happened, S-H?” Grant looked confused, panicked, and he kept looking at Stiles like he’d grown antlers. “Why did they just stop?”

Stiles didn’t answer him, just kept his guard up as the two of them returned to their vehicle much more quickly than they’d left it. Stiles took the drivers side after he pushed the somewhat stunned Grant into the passengers seat. “I’ll explain in a second. Let’s just get somewhere safe.”

“We need to call it in, those people living in the woods have to move it’s not safe, what the fuck?” Grants hands fumbled on his cell phone.

Stiles took it gently from him. “We can’t call it in. You can’t call in a group of cannibalistic supernatural creatures. All that does is get people killed. Your bullets barely slowed them down. If they’re feral enough to be hunting in the day time, my pack will take care of them.”

“Your what?” Grant said, face in his hands, “Are you calling in some kind of special forces team?”

Stiles smirked, “Kind of.” He pressed a few buttons and put the phone on speakerphone on his lap, turning to Grant briefly with a single finger over his lips. 

“Stiles, I cannot identify random claw marks from just a picture. How many times have I told you this?” Peter said in place of a greeting.

Stiles snorted, “Don’t worry, I identified them for you. It’s a clan of wendigos, at least four. They’re feral enough to have just attacked me in broad daylight so, perhaps our first act of territory protection should be a wendigo-hunting expedition?” 

Grant stared at Stiles like zero of those words made any sense to him. 

Peter hummed on the other end of the line, “Can I use the coordinates from your picture message?” 

“That’ll put you close enough to find them. You’re going to want to wait for Derek at least, maybe Jackson, if he feels like getting his tail out. They’re still strong enough to be dangerous. Hey, who’s home?” 

“Myself, Lupe. I think Cora got in a few minutes ago. Why?” 

Stiles turned to look at Grant for a minute, “Remember how I wasn’t going to introduce my partner to the supernatural?” 

Peter laughed, “Let me guess, it wasn’t just you that got attacked by wendigos in broad daylight.”

“Nope. We’ll be home in like, ten minutes. Can you or Cora put on some tea and pull out the ‘welcome to the supernatural, we swear we aren’t crazy’ book?”

“Did you actually make one of those?” Peter sounded endlessly amused.

“I’m nothing if not prepared.” Stiles sighed, “See you soon.” He hung up.

Grant hadn’t said anything for the duration of the call. “Supernatural? Like, demons and witches and vampires?”

Stiles chuckled, “And my personal favorite.” He turned to Grant with a grin, and flashed his alpha-mate eye, “Werewolves.”

An hour later, tucked into the informal sitting room at the Hale complex, Grant had drunk two cups of tea, skimmed the rudimentary Bestiary-for-dummies that Stiles had assembled, Cora had shifted twice, and he mostly believed that the supernatural was real. “So…” He looked at Stiles, “You’re not a werewolf, but you can do the eye thing.” 

Stiles nodded, sitting back against the opposite end of the couch, “Right. I’m a mage – a wizard, if you will – but my husband, Derek, is an alpha. We did some ritual that you definitely don’t want details about, and now I have the eye thing.”

Grant nodded and turned to Cora, “And you’re a werewolf, but your eye thing is gold. And your Uncle – who is going to go kill those crazy things in the forest – has a blue eye thing because he’s killed people.” Cora, who was sitting between Stiles and Grant, just gave a small smile and nodded, flashing her eyes again briefly. “And what -- the people in the forest were what?”

“Wendigo.” Stiles said. “Cannibalistic shape shifters. I’m not sure how they reproduce. Usually, it’s one here and there, and they are capable of rational thought and self-control. I once knew of a whole family that just stole bodies out of the morgue in our hometown. Nasty, but better than actively killing people. The ones we met in the forest probably attacked because I reek of magic –"

“Like, all the time.” Cora said with a grimace.

“And so eating me would have been a power boost. So, sorry about dragging you into that.”

Grant leaned forward and rubbed his face with his hands, “How do we explain wendigos to headquarters? Or does the case just go unsolved?”

Stiles sat back and looked up at the ceiling, “We could leave one of them alive, and see if we can get one of the local supers to go pretend to get attacked by it. That’s how we handled this shit in New York City. I don’t know any local supernaturals here yet, unfortunately.”

“Isaac is pretty good at playing the victim.” Cora said with a shrug, “Faris could talk to the witch coven.”

Stiles groaned, “Isaac would heal too quickly. Too many questions. The witches would probably work. PETER.” Stiles shouted the last word.

A few moments later, the older werewolf appeared in the doorway to the sitting room. “Yes, Stiles?” He said with an exasperated sigh. 

“Can you talk to Faris and see if any of the witches can pull off parading as a transient for a week or so, and teach them how to kill a wendigo? When you go hunting, leave one of them alive. Offer the witch payment, or spellwork, whichever they prefer. Let me know when it’s done so I can make sure Grant and I catch the call when it comes in.” 

Peter gave a nod, “I’ll see what we can come up with.” Peter studied Grant, his eyes flicking from Grant to Cora and then back, “I’m Peter Hale. My nephew-in-law and niece usually have better manners.” He gave a polite nod of his head. 

Grant stared up at him, swallowing hard, “I’m uh, Special Agent Grant Thomas. I work with S-H.” He nodded back.

“Thanks for the help, Peter.” Stiles gave a small smile as the wolf wandered back towards his office. “So, now you’ve met Crazy Uncle Peter, and my little sister.” Stiles ruffled Cora’s hair, earning himself a growl. “Do you feel okay to go back to work? We have a few hours left of the shift, it’ll give Peter and Faris some time to get a plan in place.”

Grant drew in a long breath and nodded, “This shit is crazy.” He said, blinking. “Am I awake, like, for real?” 

Stiles laughed and reached over to pat him on the shoulder, “It only gets crazier from here.” 

\--

“You saw four, right?” Derek said as he, Jackson, Peter, Lupe and Cora traipsed back into the house later that night, looking bloody but all in good spirits.

Stiles, who had reached up to touch Derek’s chin and quickly probe for anything that the alpha wasn’t already healing, nodded, “Why, how many were there?” 

“Ten.” Jackson said, from where Lydia was helping him wipe himself – unfortunately awkward tail included – down with a warm wash cloth. Everyone in the vicinity winced as the once-vestigial organ retracted itself into nothing more than a bit more pronounced bump at the base of Jackson’s spine. “Fuck you, for mentioning the tail, by the way.”

“It was a good idea.” Lupe said with a shrug, hanging his jacket and moving to the basket to deposit the keys. “I’ve never seen wendigos go down so fast. Wendigos are usually much harder to kill.”

“Well, I’m painfully familiar with Kanima-induced paralysis.” Stiles said with a wicked grin, “But regardless, job well done. One left alive?”

“The weakest one.” Cora said leaning tiredly against Isaac, who was content to allow the contact. “It’ll either die on its own, or Faris said the witch would take it out in a week, and then we can call in the authorities.”

Stiles nodded, hand still resting against Derek’s face, the Alpha’s arms lazily looped around Stiles’ chest, “And Lupe, you warded the forest so it can’t leave?” Once the elf agreed, Stiles grinned. “I guess that’s one successful act of territory protection for the Hale pack. I’ll see everyone for breakfast in the morning.” Stiles headed upstairs past the rest of the pack, with Derek close at his heels. 

Once they were in their sound-warded bedroom, Stiles pushed Derek towards the bathroom, “Go shower, and then I’ll blow you and we can go to bed.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “What about you?”

Stiles looked back at Derek with a grin, “Lydia, Isaac and I got bored.” 

Derek shook his head and leaned over to press a long kiss to Stiles lips, “Come shower with me.” He growled into his mate’s mouth, tugging Stiles close and running his hands softly down his back, holding the mage close to him. 

“I already showered; I’m going to have the worlds driest skin.” Stiles grumbled but didn’t resist, stepping out of his sweats and pulling the T-shirt over his head as Derek maneuvered them towards the bathroom. 

“We’re back on the west coast.” Derek said, pressing a line of kisses down Stiles’ neck as the water warmed. “You’re not going to be as dry as you were in New York.”

Stiles rolled his eyes but pushed Derek back into the spray, “I don’t think that’s as true as you want it to be, I think this was just an elaborate ruse to get to see me naked.” 

Derek tilted his head back to let the spray rinse blood and forest grime from his hair and face, “Something like that.” His lips were twisted into a grin. “Or y’know, it’s just easier to clean up the shower.”

“Derek Hale you have a goddamn cleanliness kink, I swear.” The words dripped with affection as Stiles gently but thoroughly washed the evidence of the late-night hunt from his husband’s body and scrubbed shampoo and conditioner through Derek’s hair before reaching to turn off the shower, grinning up at Derek as he dropped to his knees and pressed hot open-mouthed kisses to each of his thighs, nuzzling against his hip and using one hand to gently stroke Derek to hardness. Derek stared down at Stiles with lust-darkened hazel eyes and brought his hands up to grip Stiles’ hair. “I don’t think cleanliness matters when you come down my throat anyway.” Stiles winked before he took Derek into his mouth.


	13. Beacon Hills, Day 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reason the pack doesn't entrust much pack-stuff to Derek? Because the second Stiles is out of reach he's a blubbering wreck for a while. 
> 
> So, enjoy your side of angst with your main course of Angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so probably alpha werewolves don't cry as much as Derek does in this particular scene, but like
> 
> Derek is really sick of losing people and he's become a lot more emotionally vulnerable now that he has a stable pack, and Stiles. So, out of character? For you to decide. But one of my favorite tropes is that Derek isn't really meant to be the alpha, but he does it because he wants to make his family proud, and the pack rallies around him to make sure he's successful -- especially Stiles. 
> 
> Enjoy!!
> 
> Also, I know a lot of you hate Scott, I'm sorry to inform you that this Scott is wholly remorseful for the shitty things he's done. 
> 
> I think I'll update faster now that the story is finished!! So, maybe a update Tuesday (ch14), Thursday (ch15) (which leaves you on a cliff hanger I'm awful), Saturday (ch16), Monday (ch17), and the epilogue next Wednesday! 
> 
> I've really loved writing this story, and I do have plans to write more in this verse, including the PWPs I've been teasing you with!
> 
> Happy Sunday

Derek’s emotions were painfully crisp as they resonated down the pack bonds. Even before the rest of the Hale and McCall Packs met up with the group that had gone to the distillery, inside one of the Argents dusty, abandoned warehouses, it became painfully clear that something bad had happened at the meeting. It was Lydia who burst into the warehouse first, pushing Cora and Peter aside until she was face to face with Derek. “Where is he?” She snarled, decidedly wolf-like and on the edge of being something dangerous. 

Derek’s eyes weren’t red when he lifted his head to face her, picking it heavily up out of the hands it was set in in between his legs. His eyes were hazel, were full of tears and unfocused in a way that Lydia had only seen rarely and never outside of a heavily warded bedroom. “She took him.” He whispered, his voice tiny, curled into himself, making himself impossibly small, every inch of his body slumped, defeated. “I ... I couldn’t stop it. Kate took him.”

Tears flew into Lydia’s eyes, her legs shook, one hand coming up to visibly clamp over her mouth to hold in a scream of anguish that could have hurt the others. She hit the ground hard as her legs stopped supporting her weight, knees cracking loudly and painfully against the concrete of the warehouse floor, chest shaking with the force of her silent sobs. Her breakdown only spurred Derek’s further, the alpha falling from the bench he was sitting on to join her on the floor with sobs that were far from silent. Neither of them touched each other despite the small gap, each lost in a wave of emotions that had every bonded member of the Hale pack in tears, lost as to how to help, each feeling like their own hearts had been plucked from their chests.

“Pull yourselves together for fucks sake they’re not dead.” Malia growled from where the McCall pack had huddled together. Her eyes were red-and-blue and her shift was wildly uncontrolled, her face indescribable - canine one moment and human the next. “Nobody in your pack is even dead. You killed our fucking Emissary and our alpha is gone. Get the fuck up and figure out how we’re going to fix this.”

“Shut your fucking mouth. You were going to kill Deaton if Derek hadn’t.” The cold tone of Cora’s voice, and the venom in it wasn’t missed by anyone. “Maybe you don’t give a fuck about losing your mate, but Derek just watched his walk away - losing him for the second time in less than a goddamn month. Oh, and let’s not forget that Stiles only went with Kate fucking Argent because she had Scott, the person who ran Stiles out of his home.”

“Scott asked Stiles to stay!” Liam roared, one hand on Malia’s shoulder seemingly the only thing anchoring her to her human form. “I was there.”

“Scott also accused Stiles of murdering someone.” Cora spat back, bristling with anger, her eyes glowing golden and dangerous despite the tears. “And then refused to believe that maybe there was a reason for it. He couldn’t see past his holier-than-thou true alpha bullshit, and Stiles shouldered that burden for Scott too. Like he always did. Like he’s doing NOW.”

“To be fair, Stiles did murder someone.” Theo said with a shrug, surprisingly detached from the entire situation. “I was there.”

“It was self-defense you piece of shit.” Everyone whipped around at the sound of Derek’s voice, wrecked by the emotions, “Stiles killed Donovan because he had to in order to survive. And I know that for a fact.” He pulled himself to his feet, “Because I’m the one who’s held him through the nightmares he has about that night. And I’m the one who he trusted enough to SHOW the fucking memory to.” Derek held out a clawed hand, eyes now alpha red, fixed on Theo. “YOU are the person who convinced Scott that he couldn’t trust Stiles. YOU are the person who came to Beacon Hills to take Scott’s pack, the one who wanted Stiles at his worst, when he was the version of himself he hated the most.” Derek had taken several steps towards Theo, who had backed himself against a wall, face still stoic but body unable to resist the strength of Derek’s words and the alpha tone he said them in. “So, you are going to shut the fuck up unless you have something helpful to say or I’ll rip your goddamn tongue out of your mouth and none of your pack or mine would be able to stop me.” 

“Or want to.” Peter added cheerily.

When Derek was done, he returned to where he had previously been, sitting back on the bench he’d been on when they got there, watching Jackson hold the still-crying Lydia in his arms. Isaac dropped to the bench next to him, offering the alpha his throat, which Derek readily buried his face into, heartbroken tears returning as the momentary protective anger faded away to reveal the still open wound of Stiles being gone again.

“Now that we’ve all got the yelling out of our systems.” John said, eyes ringed with red but his voice firm, stepping so he was between the two packs, “We need to discuss how we’re going to get them back. Both of them.”

“I don’t give a fuck about getting them both back.” Cora said, still glaring at Malia. “I only care that we get Stiles back. If it had been up to me, I would have let Kate shoot Scott so that she didn’t get her dirty fucking hands on Stiles.”

“Stiles made that decision, Cora.” Peter said softly, curling an arm around his niece’s shoulders, tugging her into his chest, pained eyes staring back at Malia as Cora curled herself into Peter’s shoulder. There was a part of him that wished he could do the same for Malia, for his daughter. He knew that she had watched her mate be taken away, but they didn’t have that relationship. They might never. 

“No one is actually surprised about that, right?” Jackson asked from where he sat on the floor holding Lydia, “I know that a lot of bad things went down here, but McCall and Stiles were bros.” He buried his face back into Lydia’s hair, arms locked around her tightly, giving her whatever comfort and safety he could.

“Scott would have done the same for Stiles, I think.” Allison said from where she stood next to her dad, both of them, like the Sheriff, placed carefully between the two packs. Her eyes had been on Isaac and Derek the entire time, but she hadn’t moved from her place of neutrality. 

Malia looked at her and then nodded, “I think there’s a part of both of them that could never let the other go.”

“Childhood friendships don’t get erased by a few months of bad decisions, or even seven years of separation.” John said, resolutely. “So, Cora, I’m sorry, but this plan has to work to get both of them out, or Stiles will never forgive us for getting Scott killed to save him.” Cora looked up from Peter’s shoulder to give the elder Stilinski a nod. “The bigger problem is that we don’t know where they took them.”

“I can try to help with that.” Lupe said, “It’s how we found Stiles in Sacramento. Derek and I were able to locate him using their bond. Derek contains Stiles’ excess magic, so it makes their bond very powerful, and the connection between them is impervious even to very strong scrambling spells.” 

“And if we find them, what are we going to do?” Chris Argent asked, arms crossed over his chest, “Storm an unknown building with just the people we have her? The Calaveras could have an army, and if they’ve conscripted anyone from Monroe’s groups, we could walk into a massacre.”

“Not to mention, whoever created a way to keep Stiles from using his magic has to be dangerous.” Lupe said. “We can’t discount them.”

“And Kate.” Allison said softly, eyes on the floor. “She’s a monster.” 

Derek pulls his face away from Isaac’s neck, ignoring the confused look from the McCall pack – and that one kid that could turn invisible whispering about how affectionate Derek was being with someone who wasn’t his mate and was that cheating – to look at the middle of the room where Chris, John and Allison are standing. “Stiles said something right before he left, something about ‘his own kind of distress call’ on his computer, he said Lydia would know.”

Lydia burst to life, pushing herself out of Jackson’s arms with green eyes glittering dangerously, a wide grin over her mouth, “That paranoid, stubborn, brilliant man.” She ran outside before anyone could stop her, apparently so distracted by whatever Derek just said that she forgot they’re being hunted. Allison chased after her, crossbow in hand, ready to defend.

“For the record, Derek isn’t cheating on anyone.” Isaac murmured just loud enough to be heard, eyes pinned on the were—what werechamelon? “Stiles gave me one job in this pack and I’m going to do it.” He – with surprising force, actually – pulls Derek back against him, burying his face in the alpha’s hair, and Derek isn’t really sure if Isaac is doing it for his benefit, or his own, but he isn’t going to complain.

Lydia returns a moment later with a bag that Derek recognizes as Stiles’ laptop case, and she drops to the middle of the floor and tugs it out, setting the well-worn Mac on the ground of the warehouse. She waits for the laptop to power on, grabbing her phone in the meantime – probably setting up a wireless hot spot – before typing in a password and hitting enter. Everyone in the room is quiet, mesmerized, watching the redhead work. 

She seems to know what she’s looking for, and after five minutes, she looks up at Derek, and then at Malia, and returns to typing. Three minutes later she hits enter, closes the lid and waits, looking around the room with expectant eyes. The Hale pack’s phones all buzz. A phone on the McCall Pack’s side buzzes and they all pat their pockets until they realize that the phone that gave the notification is Deaton’s. They all stare at it, but Theo finally rolls his eyes and grabs it.

Peter – of course – is the first one to have his phone unlocked, and open the notification, looking down at the encrypted email. It asks for a password. “Did you write this program, or did Stiles?” Peter asked.

Lydia raises one eyebrow, “Why?”

Peter returns the expression, “Because the answer to this question depends on which of you wrote the question.”

Lydia just rolled her eyes, “Stiles wrote all the questions and answers, Peter. They’re personalized. I wrote the code, but you’re the only one who is supposed to be able to immediately know the answer.”

Peter stares back down at his phone for a moment, tongue pressed between his teeth. It’s John that answers his question first though, and he looked up after he’d read the contents of the email. “How many people got this email, Lydia?” He asked softly, eyes bright with tears, but with something more, with hope.

Lydia stood up triumphantly, “Our pack, because I’m a show off. The alpha or emissary of every werewolf pack that Stiles has closely interacted with, Queen Maricella, a specific, designated list of mages, sorcerers and witches that Stiles trusted implicitly. Everyone otherwise unassociated that attended the wedding, and Chris and Allison Argent.”

Chris had managed to decrypt his own message, and looked up at Lydia, “Stiles was prepared for war.” 

Lydia took a long breath, “Stiles wanted to make sure that if something ever happened to him, and the pack was ever under serious distress, we’d have allies.”

It took Derek five tries to type with shaking hands the exact spelling of Stiles’ real full name. _Mieczysław Noah Stilinski-Hale_. His prompt was ‘What is the only name you’ve never called me?’, and he could hear the question in Stiles’ voice in his head. He remembered Stiles teasing him about not knowing his middle name when it was so blatantly obvious. He stared down to read the message.

_Dear Sourwolf,_

_If you’ve received his message, then I, Mieczysław Stilinski-Hale, spark mage, Husband and Alpha-mate of Alpha Derek Hale, emissary of the Hale pack (Sacramento, CA), am formally requesting your assistance. My pack alone is strong, but we need allies now._

_My trusted advisor and friend, Lydia Whittemore Martin, has sent this message in my place, likely only the case under extreme duress. The situation is as follows:_

_Myself and Alpha Scott McCall of the McCall Pack (Beacon Hills, CA) have been kidnapped and taken hostage by the following groups or individuals: Araya Calavera and associates (Human, Hunter), Katherine Argent (Werejaguar, Hunter), and a magic-user of unknown identity, capable of restricting the use of my magic._

_My pack is currently in Beacon Hills, CA. Do not reply to this email, contact Lydia Whittemore Martin (lwm@hale.net), Peter Hale (phale@hale.net) or Derek Hale (dhale@hale.net) for further instructions or information. Use discretion in any insecure electronic correspondence._

_miłość i moc,  
SSH. _

Derek looked up after he’d finished reading, “Why didn’t he tell me about this?” He asked softly, meeting Lydia’s eyes. 

Lydia bit her bottom lip hard, “Derek, I had to make adjustments to this message. The original purpose for it was in the event of his death. Stiles assumed that if he was dead, you wouldn’t be in the right state of mind and you’d need the help.” She gave him a small smile, “At least this time, he’s still alive. You know, I know it.” She pressed her hand against her heart, “He’s still alive, and if he’s alive, we can get him back.”

Derek had appreciated Lydia’s presence in his life a great number of times in the last seven years, but few compared to this, to watching her – the woman who had fought along Stiles for so many years, who had stayed by his side through the worst days of both of their lives – stepping up for him once again. “We’ll get him back.”

From the other side of the room, Malia finally groaned and turned to the Hale Pack, “Who held Stiles down when he sacrificed himself to the Nemeton to save his dad?” She said, holding up Deaton’s phone, “None of you are sharing, and none of us know the answer.”

“I did.” Lydia answered, rolling her eyes. “I’m honestly surprised that Deaton even made the list, but I guess this was made well before Deaton conspired against us.”

\--

For the entirety of the car ride, Stiles played back every moment since he was kidnapped in Sacramento, got pissed about every wrong move, every opportunity he could have taken to get himself – and Scott – out of the situation. He should have tried before the cuffs were on to kill Kate or should have just killed Deaton and called Kate’s bluff on killing Scott. He should have let Derek take Kate out when she was focused on him. So many places where things could have gone differently, but they didn’t. They didn’t and now he was here, magically restricted, held hostage by the mere fact that if he did anything to fight, Kate Argent or Araya Calavera or any of their groupies was going to kill Scott McCall. 

When the car finally stopped, Kate tasered Scott again, obviously hoping to keep him weak enough not to risk fighting back and motioned for Stiles to follow her. As soon as Stiles was out of the car, looking up at an unfamiliar black building, someone hit him in the back of the head and he fell unceremoniously to the ground, only hearing Scott’s aborted cry and the sound of the taser again before the entire world went black.

When he woke, the first thing he saw was Scott, still cuffed and shackled, sitting on the ground next to him. Stiles didn’t move at first, a careful, minimal probe running through his body to check for damage, careful not to let it even hit the top layer of his skin to risk triggering the cuffs. Once he was sure he wasn’t injured, he sat up. “How long was I out?”

“Half an hour or so?” Scott said, “I’m not really sure, I think they’re drugging me with something, everything is fuzzy.”

“That’s not drugs, it’s probably a spell. Someone probably wanted to keep you in some kind of confounded state. They usually don’t last long. I’d offer to check and see if I can break it but,” Stiles held up his right wrist, aching, and still wrapped with the black metal cuffs. Stiles held it up a little higher, the lighting in the room they were in wasn’t good, but he brought it close to his face, blinking to flick his alpha-eye to the surface, using it to inspect the cuff. “Elves…” He murmured to himself.

“Elves did this?” Scott asked, “I didn’t even know that elves were real. Like, Santa’s helpers or Legolas?”

“Oh man, Lupe LOVES when people compare him to Legolas.” Stiles snorted, “Elves are definitely real. I don’t know if elves did this.” He motioned to the room and Scott’s cuffs, “But this magic, the way they’ve got it rebounding back at me, the design on these cuffs, that’s Elvish. Most people probably wouldn’t know that.”

“Most people don’t know elves are real.” 

“Most people don’t have a seat at the Elf Queen’s table of advisors, or an elf in their pack.” Stiles said with a cocked eyebrow. “A lot of people know elves are real, but not very many people know as much about them as I do. Peter’s probably the only one who knows more but that’s just because Lupe claims familial bonds and won’t sleep with me.” 

Scott just stared at Stiles, mouth half open, face contorted in confusion like there’s a question he wants to ask but he also isn’t sure he actually wants to know. His face relaxes after a few minutes, “Do you think the packs will come for us soon?” 

“Not today.” Stiles said, confidently. “Maybe not even tomorrow. I’m not sure.” He looks at Scott, “They will come, Scott, but this isn’t some rogue hunter. The Calaveras alone are a big deal. Kate Argent and whatever cronies she’s put together, plus whoever the fuck Kepa is.” 

“Kepa?” Scott asks.

“Kate said Kepa gave these cuffs to Deaton.” Stiles rolled his eyes, “Were you even paying attention?”

“There was a lot happening. Gun to my head, tasers hurt like a bitch.” Scott scooted deliberately away from Stiles, looking away.

“If you think that was a lot, you’ve had a very sheltered existence here in the good old Beacon Hills.” Stiles dragged himself to his feet to wander the small room they were in. The walls felt old, maybe like cement, maybe wooden. It would make sense if somehow the Calaveras had managed to get their hands on enough mountain ash to build a prison cell. If he had only been out for a half hour though, they couldn’t be in Mexico. Maybe it was Argent-made then.

Stiles walked the perimeter of the room – it wasn’t very big; the ceiling was sort of low and it only took a few strides to get from one end to the other. There was a pad of some kind in the far corner, it was black and kind of smelled like mold, but Stiles assumed it was supposed to be something of a bed. There was a hole with a wooden cover in the other corner, and when Stiles lifted the wooden cover, he almost gagged. Judging from the sounds Scott made, he did too. “Guess that’s supposed to be our toilet.” 

“Why do you think they won’t come today?” Scott asked, finally looking back at Stiles, “Some kind of Hale pack rule that people have to stay kidnapped for a full 24 hours or something?”

Stiles snorted, “No, but it will take time for them to get ready. Hopefully, Isaac can work out enough of Derek’s emotions that he can focus.” 

Scott pressed his lips into thin lines, “You’re expecting Isaac to let Derek beat him up? What kind of assholes are you.”

Stiles blinked a few times, “No, idiot, I’m hoping Isaac will let Derek fuck him until Derek can think about something other than the fact that I have been kidnapped by his crazy ex-girlfriend.” Stiles paused for a moment and then added, “Again.” 

Scott looked away for a moment and then looked back, “I thought you and Derek were married.”

“We are.”

“But you want Isaac to have sex with your husband?”

“I mean, sex is the best way for me to take my mind off shit. A pack pile or cuddles and sleep sometimes works just as well for Derek. Sleep doesn’t do it for me, too many nightmares.” Stiles shrugged, trying to slide his left cuff up so he can get to the cracked scabbed skin and let it breathe. “Seeing as I’m not there to have sex with Derek to take his mind off of me being not there, Isaac is a good choice. He’s pack, and he loves Derek too. Allison understands.” 

Scott’s eyebrows looked like something out of a cartoon, pulled together so dramatically that they were nearly touching, right up until Stiles uttered Allison’s name. Then he just looked away, something like pain flashing over his face. Regret maybe? (Almost ten years too late for that, buddy, Stiles thinks.) “Your pack is so weird, dude.”

Stiles gave a hollow laugh, “Our pack is definitely not the weirdest pack I’ve ever seen. There was this pack in Kansas City that kicked me out a few days before the full moon and refused to tell me why. Turns out it’s because all of the of-age non-familial members of the pack have a full-on orgy during the days leading up to the full moon. That’s pretty extreme. Our pack is just close.”

Scott made a face, “I don’t get it, but it’s your life. I’m glad you ended up happy.”

On the list of things Stiles had been predicting would come out of Scott’s mouth, ‘I’m glad you ended up happy’ was not on it. He sat there, kind of dumbstruck for a moment. “Thanks.” He finally said. “Are you happy, Scott?”

Scott didn’t look at him, staring at the dark wall for a long time, taking long, deep breaths, “Sometimes.” He said, finally, “I love Malia, she’s honestly exactly what I need – straightforward and honest and strong. She’s the right person for me. Liam has grown up, he started talking with Marin – Mrs. Morell, and now he’s got really good control, and he’s a good Second, he helps with new wolves and he’s a good strategist. Theo is still an asshole. He’s still sarcastic and sometimes I just want to punch him in the face, but he didn’t have anywhere else to go, and I needed someone who was strong enough to do the things I couldn’t bring myself to do without falling to pieces.” Scott finally looked at Stiles, “But you… There was – is—a part of me that knew that you were what was missing from my pack. By the time I realized that maybe killing could be justified, and that I was going to need help to protect Beacon Hills, it was too late. You were gone.”

“You could have called.” Stiles said, coldly, eyes locked on Scott’s. “I didn’t change my number. I was going to a million times, but I left it.” It was a partial lie, he wasn’t going to tell Scott why, but Derek knew. Derek knew that the reason Stiles had never changed his number was because the phone line was another relic from an older time, it was Claudia Stilinski’s phone number. 

“You wouldn’t have answered.” Scott returned, worrying his bottom lip into his mouth. “We don’t really have much contact with packs outside of asking for help occasionally. I heard that Derek had formed his own pack, then Malia confirmed he was an alpha again. I heard rumours that there was some kind of powerful mage around, but nobody called you by your name. And then when I heard that distress call, it sounded so familiar, like something was telling me that I had to respond to it.” Scott’s brown eyes shone with tears in the low light, “Stiles, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry that everything went wrong. I never meant to chase you out of Beacon Hills. I never meant to ruin our friendship…” Scott trailed off, bringing up his hands to wipe at the tears in the corner of his eyes, wincing as the wolfsbane soaked cuffs grazed against his nose. 

Stiles waited for his heart rate to settle down. He’d reacted far more strongly to what Scott had said than he’d been prepared to. In his head, Scott was the same eighteen-year-old True Alpha with his black-and-white morality and a driving need to protect the town but not to protect his pack. He’d expected an alpha with no idea how to run a pack, and what it meant to be pack. But this Scott – the Scott who seemed to understand pack structure, who had an alpha-mate he genuinely loved, who had a Second he trusted with his life, who talked about having a Left Hand and understood what they did for the pack – and the weight that put on their hearts. Stiles hadn’t been prepared for that. “I’ll never be in your pack, Scott.” He finally decided to say, a blanket, truthful statement, but one that needed to be said.

“I know.” Scott didn’t bother to try to hide the anguish that colored his voice.

“But that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.” Stiles almost flinched at how quickly Scott’s face snapped to his, at the hope in his eyes, “When this is all over, we’ll talk. Maybe get dinner. And I meant what I said about helping you find an emissary. I have a lot of contacts.” 

Scott didn’t get a chance to reply, because the door to the room opened and Stiles leapt to his feet, in a fighting stance by habit. Kate, and a dark-haired man stood in the entrance. “I’m so glad you’ve had a chance to have a heart to heart, boys.” She cooed, melodically, “Come out and play with us, Stiles. We have something we’d like to try.” 

Stiles stared at both of them for a long moment, looked back at Scott, and then stepped towards the door, resigned. Rule number one of being kidnapped was to play along with your captors. Pissing them off only made it more likely that you would die. Stiles needed to stay alive, to keep Scott alive, and to buy the pack time to get to them, get them out of there.

Kate lead him from the room to the center of a much larger room – some kind of open warehouse-style building with high ceilings and slats for windows high up. It was dark outside, and the room was lit by huge fluorescent lighting fixtures evenly spaced across the ceiling. Kate pushed Stiles down into a cold metal chair and reached for his shirt, tearing down the center of it with a clawed finger. The finger bit into his chest and drew a line of blood. He hissed and glared. 

“Oops.” She said, lifting an eyebrow and bringing the finger to her lips. “God you even taste like him.” Her face contorted with want. “You smell like Derek, and you taste like Derek and it’s all a big fucking tease. Derek is my mate, should have been mine, and here he is bonded to someone like you –”

“Someone like me? You mean the person he loves?” Stiles cut Kate off mid-sentence. Make them remember you’re human. Keep them focused on not hurting you. 

“He loved me.” Kate rebuts, all four of her clawed fingers slice Stiles’ shirt and jacket away, leaving it in tatters, light scratches down his chest. They’re not from an alpha, they’ll heal. Her eyes land on his shoulder and he watches with wide eyes as her face turns blue-black and her fangs lengthen, reaching up to push her hand away as it reaches to touch the bite on his shoulder. She caught his hands with one of her own, gauging her claws into the tender skin of his left wrist, leaving him gasping for air from the pain.

“He was 16.” Stiles finally snarled, “He didn’t love you, he was a child. You used him.”

“You were 16 when Derek met you.” Kate responded, “He’s no better.”

Stiles was going to kill her. He had decided that years ago when he’d finally heard what Kate had done to Derek, but the decision was cemented with those words. “He is nothing like you.” He spat, trying in vain to tug his wrists out of her grip, but unable to with her claws sank in the way they were. “He didn’t touch me until I could make the decision for myself.”

Kate just smirked, “None of that matters because he’s going to be mine again before long.” She turned to the dark-haired man, the mage, Stiles realized, who had been drawing runes on the ground with charcoal, and had mixed several different herbs with the small pool of Stiles’ blood that was dripping from his wrist where Kate’s claws were still imbedded. At her look, he stood, drawing runes on Stiles’ chest with the poultice made from his blood, covering his mate-bite with it, and then he turned to draw on Kate’s chest, exposed as she wore just a tank top, drawing a mimic of Stiles’ mate bite on her shoulder.

Stiles’ eyes grew wide, “What are you doing? Who are you? Why are you helping her? She’s a goddamn monster.” 

The dark-haired man said nothing, just continued whispering in the olde tongue, the language of spells and rights older than civilization, the language of elves and mages and fae. Stiles knew what the words meant, was fluent in it. As soon as the man – Kepa, Stiles reminded himself – finished drawing the runes, and finished the chant, Stiles felt a pain, searing like a dull knife had been stabbed into his chest. The magic pulled at his pack bonds, sought out the mate-bond, the thrice-forged alpha bond that wrapped around the emissary bond beneath it, his link to Derek, the marriage of their hearts, their souls.

Stiles didn’t bother trying to resist, he knew the cuffs made it futile. He was reduced to hoping that the magic that lived in that bond – his magic, and possibly the magic of another – the magic that lived in Derek, would protect them from whatever ritual Kate was trying to do. That magic, and hopefully Lupe if he was nearby. The ritual was distinctly elvish, and Stiles was rapidly doubting that the mage was a mage. He didn’t have much time to ponder it, because Kate leaned in with a sickening grin, and when her fangs sank into his shoulder, reopening the years-old scar of his mate-bite, he screamed.

\--

The Hale pack had decided, after getting a brief, official permission from Malia, to set up in the building Derek still owned that had once housed his loft, rather than make it back to Sacramento that night. It was dusty, but Faris and Lupe gave it a rapid, magical cleaning and the pack – unwilling to be separated when they all still felt so shaken – dragged all of the mattresses and blankets from the various bedrooms to the center of the main room and huddled together. 

Lydia, Peter and Derek had been coordinating with those who had reached out – offering further explanation and describing their needs. At some point, they started telling people they were under the impression that they had enough help but asked that they be on standby in case the situation became more dire. Cora and Isaac had handled food, ordering enough takeout for a small army – that was what they were after all – and bringing it back to the loft to share.

Allison had joined them later in the evening after she ate dinner with her dad and John Stilinski. She looked at Isaac for a long moment, the beta cocking his head to the side as if trying to decrypt what the look on her face meant. Instead of speaking, she just walked to him, sank into his lap and kissed him, crying for the first time that day. Nobody questioned it, nobody thought it was odd. They just tugged Allison into the center of their huddle and held her as she too struggled with the same feelings they all were – worry, fear, confusion, and hers was all muddled together with a sick, misplaced sense of guilt at being related to the woman responsible. 

She looked up at Derek, who had largely been silent since the warehouse, aside from occasional questions to Lydia or Peter. “I know this isn’t the right time, but Derek, but I need to say this now, to ask…” She stopped herself, biting her lip and closing her eyes.

Derek looked up from where his head had been in Lydia’s lap, her fingers absently brushing through his hair. He took in Allison’s appearance, her tears, the way she curled around Isaac, the way the pack curled around her, unhesitatingly. “Ask your question, Allison.” He said gently, sitting up.

“I’m ready now.” She finally whispered. “I’m ready to be pack if you’ll take me. I know I’m an Argent and I know that I’m Scott McCall’s ex and that I haven’t always been the best friend to you, but today, in the warehouse, standing between the two packs, it felt wrong.” She bowed her head, resting it against Isaac’s shoulder, “It felt wrong to pretend like I didn’t know exactly which side of that warehouse I needed to be on.”

Derek pushed the pack gently around, moving bodies out of the way and held out his arms. Allison only hesitated for a moment before she crawled into his lap, let him lock his arms around her, buried her face in his throat with another sob. Derek stroked her arms softly. He breathed in her scent, tinged deep with the scent of danger – being a hunter was who she was – but above that was just Allison. Not Allison Argent, not Argent, not just Allison. She was nothing like her aunt. He looked around at the pack, all of them with eyes glistening. “You were the one of the first people Stiles ever saved with his magic.” He finally whispered. 

Allison pulled back, looked up at Derek with furrowed brows, confused, “What do you mean?” 

“Stiles told me that he only distinctly remembers using magic two times before he left Beacon Hills and went on his magical summer vacation. The first time was the mountain ash line at the school, the second was to save you.” Derek pressed a kiss to her forehead, “When Lydia screamed your name in that tunnel, Stiles remembers being on the edge of consciousness, too weak to walk, too weak to speak, but he remembers believing with everything he had that no, you weren’t going to die. So, despite a wound that should have killed you, you didn’t.”

Allison’s heart stutters a few times and she brought her hand to press against her abdomen, the spot the Oni had stabbed her that night. “He saved me?” She breathed, “I thought he hated me. Because of Scott.”

Derek shook his head, “He’s doesn’t really know why or how he did it, or what he was feeling at the time. His best guess is that it was a combination of factors – Lydia’s pain, Scott’s pain, his own guilt, and it combined into a spell that kept enough blood in your body, and kept your heart beating long enough for help to arrive.”

Allison nodded, and she rested her head back against Derek’s shoulder, “Remind me to thank him.” She whispered, tears starting anew.

“The point of me telling that story wasn’t to make you miss him more. It was so that you’d understand why I can do this when Stiles isn’t here to agree. Because I know he’d agree.” Derek gently tilted her head backwards, gave her a moment to change her mind, and then wrapped a hand around her throat, gave her a small smile and said, “Welcome to the pack, Allison.” 

The bond that popped up – new, and fresh and white, it would color itself later – was stronger than any new bond the pack had felt since Lydia had joined. Allison’s eyes fell closed for a moment, and then when they opened they were full of tears. Derek kissed her forehead again and carefully scooped her up, passing her back to Isaac who held her as she rode the first wave of shared pack emotions. All things considered, it was a terrible night to join the pack, but it helped, having another pack member, made Derek feel stronger, more ready to take on the monsters who had his mate.

That brief surge of confidence lasted less than a minute. Suddenly, Derek unwound himself from the pile of bodies and took a few long breaths as he stood there, fingers rubbing over the crescent moon on his chest. He frowned as he looked down, as it started to tingle, to burn, and then to bleed. “What the –” The scent of magic in the air was strong, and his chest began to ache, and then the pain grew sharper, like someone was trying to cut his heart out. Lupe was the first one to him, pushing him until he was seated and then lying flat and pressing his hand against Derek’s chest, eyes at the ceiling, glowing pure silver, face contorted with rage. It was a rare sight, the elf usually had so many human mannerisms, but the way he held himself over Derek, the pure silver of his eyes, his hair loose and long around his face slipping forward to reveal his sharply pointed ears seemed to crack the veneer of humanity and reveal the inherently powerful magical being beneath it.

One of Derek’s hands wrapped around Lupe’s wrist, he tried to breathe, wanted to scream for Stiles to help him because this was Stiles’ wheelhouse – magic, magical attacks, Stiles protected him, protected them all. He couldn’t breathe. But then he could feel Stiles’ pain, could hear Stiles’ scream in his ears. The bond between them was being ripped at on Stiles’ end, and another soul, dark and wicked and painfully familiar, was lurking nearby with an abstract sense of predatory glee, and a hand was pushing the bonds, trying to unseat them from Stiles’ soul and attach them to the other soul. Lupe was fighting back, hand pressed flat against Derek’s chest, his own magic racing down the bond to fight against the dark, phantom hand. 

Realization dawned in Derek that he knew that soul, his body did, his mind did. Once, a long time ago, a bond had been made with that person, a bond he had willingly broken despite the pain. “Lupe, please don’t let them.” He cried, eyes burning alpha red as he stared at the ceiling, “STILES!” His vision went white and then red and then black and back to red. Something inside him, deeper than the pack bonds, deeper than his soul, surged up. Something that felt like Stiles, but wasn’t Stiles surged up, a magic, a force Derek had never really paid attention to, a voice, feminine and soft, tinged with anger let out a human roar. Magic, crisp and pure, warm and familiar, like a fresh spring rain, like the way his mother’s arms had felt wrapped around him surged up and in seconds, everything was over. The soul was gone, all that Derek felt from his bond with Stiles was Stiles’ fear and pain, but the attack was over, the invader repelled.

Lupe collapsed on top of Derek with something that sounded like an apology, but the alpha didn’t make any attempt to move him. Derek dragged in a few long breaths, “Lupe, did you feel that?” 

The elf didn’t respond immediately, but after a few breaths of his own, he lifted his head and gave a solemn nod, “You are a conduit for Stiles’ magic. You house the excess magic that Stiles’ body cannot handle. That magic fought off the attack once you called for it to do so.”

“Did I… cause that?” Allison asked, her face crumpled, “I’m so sorry—”

“No.” Lupe said, his voice sure and finite. “Unless you’ve recently become an expert in ancient Elvish magic, you were not the cause of that.” He rolled himself off of Derek, accepting Peter’s hand as the beta pulled him into his arms and kissed him fiercely, one hand running all the way through Lupe’s hair. Peter held the elf close, buried his face in Lupe’s neck, more publicly affectionate than the two usually were, but Lupe didn’t seem to mind, clinging to Peter, clearly shaken by what had just transpired. “I need to call my mother. I think the person helping Kate is an elf. A powerful one, as strong as me, but using a darker form of magic, blood magic. The only good news is that you were, in fact, protected by Stiles’ magic inside you.”

“I thought we ruled out Elf interference.” Jackson said, giving Cora a long look. She just shrugged. 

Derek stared at Lupe, eyes finally hazel again, hand still rubbing at the mate-mark that was now back to its normal, simple white scar. “Was that ritual trying to do what I think it was trying to do?”

Lupe lifted his head from the top of Peter’s and stared at the alpha, “If you think it was trying to force your alpha-mate bond from Stiles’ soul to a different soul, then yes. Did you know the soul Derek? That magic is old and tricky and impossible unless … unless you’ve already bonded to that soul before you bonded to Stiles.” By the time he realized what he was saying, the damage was already done, and he whispered an apology and left the room to place the call to his mother, Peter following him. 

Derek went deathly pale at the confirmation of what he already suspected and turned his face away from the pack. He didn’t answer, just sat there, shaking, tears rolling down his face at the reopening of fifteen-year-old wounds. Lydia uncurled herself from Jackson to tug Derek’s upper body against her, “Stiles won’t let this happen, Derek. Lupe said it – when you called for Stiles to help you, his magic did, his magic fought her off.” 

Derek turned to look up at Lydia, wanting to believe her, wanting to trust that she was right, “It was Kate.” He answered softly, finally, before burying his face against her stomach, entire body shaking with the force of his sobs. After the sobs start to come too rapidly for Derek to breathe, it’s Faris who stands and presses his hand to Derek’s neck, whispering a spell softly. After a few seconds, the Alpha is asleep in Lydia’s lap, and Jackson and Isaac move him back to the middle of the pile of mattresses, cover him with a blanket and leave him to sleep. They curl around their broken, pained alpha in a protective circle, each of them, Allison included, reaching out to touch him. None of them ask Faris why he put Derek to sleep. They can all feel the pain that he was in, radiating down bonds forged in blood, love, friendship and trust. None of them need to ask, but they all hope that when the sun rises, it brings something to hang hope on.


	14. Beacon Hills, Day 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Lupe take a trip back to Sacramento, The pack greets their allies, and the bad guys have a little chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elves are kind of terrifying creatures, actually, so be prepared for that. Lupe comes across as docile and sweet but uh, remember at the end of the day he's still Peter Hale's mate. 
> 
> Also there's a sort of OOC Malia moment where she gives a whole ass monologue, which is not really a very Malia-like thing to do but hey, we're 7 years into the future so who knows how people are now?? Bear with me, y'all, it was important information. 
> 
> Also, I'd like to thank whoever pointed out that there could be a lot more backstory to the whole Lupe/Peter thing, because it really did fuel a few of the upcoming scenes! 
> 
> See y'all on Thursday!!

The morning after the attempted soul bond shift, the pack wakes to rain on the large windows of the loft, the day grey and dark. It’s the beginning of February, still the heart of winter, even if they are in California and largely werewolves, so none of them are particularly interested in leaving the nest of blankets and shared body heat that has formed. Surprising literally no one, it’s Derek who is the first to pull himself from the pack pile and wander upstairs to one of the now-empty rooms. It goes completely silent once he leaves, and nobody follows him. They often question exactly how many runes Stiles managed to etch into Derek’s wedding band, and if he had to do them with a microscope. 

Thirty minutes later, he returned to the living room. The air around him has changed, the broken, traumatized werewolf from the night before is gone, and before them is the Alpha they know, love, and follow willingly. “We have about five hours until the first of our company arrives. Cora, Allison, Isaac get places for them to stay arranged, Lydia and Peter can sort out the official lists. Lydia, you and Jackson are running point on coordination with the McCall pack, because you have prior experience dealing with Malia. Peter, you and Faris coordinate with John and Chris.” Derek turned to the elf, the final member of the pack. “How are you feeling? I know last night took a lot out of you. Thank you, Lupe.”

Lupe yawns slightly, and then meets Derek’s eyes. “It was my duty and my honor to defend you, Alpha.” He gives a small smile, “I need to eat, but I’ve mostly recovered.”

Derek nodded, “You and I are going to drive up to the den in Sacramento. We need to perform the locator spell, and there are items we’ll need for the coming days. If anyone else needs anything from the den, send me a text.” He turned to his sister, “I’ll try to be back to greet our allies, but I trust you to do it in my place if anyone arrives early.” 

Cora’s eyes flash gold and she unfolds herself to press a kiss to Derek’s cheek, “Of course, brother. About time you let me do my job.” 

Derek rolled his eyes, and then the serious expression returned to his face. “I want everyone on guard. If you have defense rune items from Stiles, I expect you to wear them today. We don’t know what Kate or the Calaveras are planning. Their attack on Stiles and I last night is very likely only the beginning. Keep locations on at all times, and if you see anything suspicious or have any issues, put it in the group message, keep everyone informed. Lydia, add Allison to the pack chat when you have a moment.”

“Done, last night.” Lydia winked and reached up to hug Derek, baring her throat to the werewolf. Derek leaned down and nosed gently against the right side of her neck. He and Jackson had an agreement. Derek left the left side of Lydia’s neck to her husband, and exclusively scented the right. Both of them got growly because Stiles seemed to ignore the rule and Lydia never seemed to remind him. “Be safe.”

Derek kissed her forehead and stepped out of her grasp. “Nobody goes anywhere alone today. Lupe and I will grab breakfast on our way out of town. We’ll try to be back by 2, let us know where to be.” He waved at the elf, who kissed Peter chastely and then stepped to follow his alpha. 

Derek and Lupe picked up breakfast sandwiches and coffees from a stand near the highway, and ate as they drove towards Sacramento. Derek, when he got into what the pack lovingly called his ‘war mode’ was silent unless he had to speak. Lupe, who grew up in an empathetic and affectionate culture, operated largely on emotions and body language, was all too content to sit silently as well. The car ride (forty-five minutes instead of the usual hour and ten minutes) was entirely silent. 

Derek unlocked the door to the converted complex and stepped inside, dragging in a long breath and bracing himself against the banister of the stairs that lead up to the pack rooms. He looked up at the stairs and then to the left, towards the room that had served as Stiles’ very temporary at-home-hospital. “I don’t remember the ritual from last time. I just remember bleeding.” 

Lupe made a small sound in his throat that might have been a laugh, “Bleed you did, alpha.” He patted Derek’s shoulder, his hand lingering, “Let’s use the hospital bed. Easier to clean than your duvet covers. Although, I will say, Stiles’ repelling charms on the bedclothes are extraordinary.”  
Derek smirked, “We ruined a lot of comforters before he figured those out.” 

Lupe didn’t doubt it. “What else do you remember about the ritual?” He asked as he stepped into the hospital room, pulling the clean linens off the bed to leave the plastic mattress. He lowered the head of the bed so it laid flat. 

Derek climbed up and laid back, “Did you actually stick your hand into my chest or did it just feel that way?” He cocked an eyebrow at the elf. 

Lupe grinned, and held up a hand, delicate, sharp nails had extended from his fingers. It was less of a change than werewolf’s claws, but Derek had a feeling they were just as sharp. “Oh no, I actually have to do that.” Lupe climbed onto the bed to sit next to Derek. “Elvish magic is powerful, and inherently neutral. Most elves, like myself and my mother, refuse to use blood magic for dark purposes. My mother says the ritual last night was actually designed for werewolves, but it was being used backwards.” Lupe pulled at Derek’s shirt for just a moment before it disappeared out of existence. 

“Designed for werewolves? To break a mate bond?”

“To repair one. It’s designed to remove a forced alpha-mate bond and re-settle a previously existing bond. The ritual is meant for extreme cases, like an alpha-mate’s kidnapping after only the first bond. The ritual very nearly worked because ultimately, they were doing what the ritual was intended to do, but by forcing Stiles’ end of the bond, not yours, the ritual was confused. And the triple-forged bond was stronger than the spell was meant to deal with.”

“Magic can be confused?” Derek sat up on his elbows, looking at Lupe.

Lupe smirked, “Magic has a life of it’s own, dear Alpha.” Lupe used a burst of unexpected strength to push Derek back down. “There’s no one here to hold you down this time, do I need to do it magically or can you keep from killing me? Because really, if I die, you get to explain to Stiles, Peter, and my Mother that you killed me –”

“I’m not going to kill you, Lupe.” Derek rolled his eyes and gripped the edges of the bed. “Just get it over with.”

“As you wish.” Lupe’s delicate, sharp claws sliced through the skin and muscle of Derek’s chest like paper, his eyes burned silver as he blasted a fist-shaped hole in Derek’s ribs and wrapped his hand around Derek’s heart, careful not to clip it with his nails as he poured magic in, searching for the soul hidden within the heart, searching down his own pack bond to find Derek, and then searching down Derek’s bond to Stiles. Derek was howling and writhing beneath Lupe, eyes red and face beta-shifted, clawed hands grasping at the edge of the bed as he tried to breathe with another creatures hand in his chest cavity. 

It took longer this time, likely due to interference by the other elf, and the magical obstructions that more completely blocked Stiles’ magical signature, but somewhere around a hundred dragged out breaths, Lupe pulled his hand out of Derek’s chest and placed his palm flat over the wound he’d created, helping Derek’s healing along. “Does ‘the armory’ mean anything to you? I have a vague location, but the magic kept saying ‘near the armory, near the armory’.” Lupe stood up from the bed and called Derek’s shirt back in, using it to wipe his own hands, earning himself a half-hearted glare from Derek.

Derek swallowed and shook his head, “No, but it sounds like something one of the Argents would know about. I’ll ask.” He rolled off the bed to the left side, “Did you have to break my ribs? Your hand didn’t fit between them?” The skin was closed but the ribs and muscle were still knitting themselves back together. Derek rubbed gently over the temporarily soft spot on his chest. 

Lupe gave a distinctly predatory smile, “I spend so little time breaking ribs these days, Derek. The least you can do is let me have a little fun.”

“You and Peter really were meant for each other.” Derek slid his phone out of his jeans and opened the group chat. 

DH: ‘near the armory’ mean anything to anyone  
LWM: How many armories are there in Beacon Hills? The only one that comes to mind is Argents, but I thought that was cleared out a long time ago. We’ll ask Malia.  
AA: It was. PH ask Dad?  
PH: On it  
JW: Malia says the armory was cleared out by the Sheriff’s office seven years ago, but they stopped patrolling that sector by Deaton’s suggestion about two years ago.  
PH: I told Talia not to trust him. I should have killed him while I had the chance.  
PH: Sheriff says building is abandoned. No callouts in the last five years.  
PH: CA says that to his knowledge, no one ever purchased the property. It still belongs to Gerard (who is supposed to be dead)  
LWM: Malia is sending Corey (shifter/invisibility) out to have a look around.  
DH: Stay safe.

Derek locked his phone and slid it into his pocket, ignoring the pangs of how odd it was to discuss something for that long without an ‘SSH’ popping up into the conversation, but that phone was back in Beacon Hills, tucked away with his laptop and the rest of their things in the Hale vault according to Faris and Peter, who had dropped the items there this morning. The alpha looked up at the elf. “Why do I remember this locator spell, but not the last one?”

Lupe finished tucking away his own phone before he looked up, “Faris was there to help me last time. He uh, obscured some of the more unpleasant parts, since we didn’t need you lucid enough to not kill me, as the boys held your arms down.” He sighed, “I’m going to go see what our Emissary has mixed up for restorative tonics, because I’d guess that both of us could use one. Send me some of the list of things people need, and go take a shower, you’re all bloody, it’s unrefined.” Lupe winked at Derek and wandered from the room. 

Derek headed upstairs to his and Stiles’ bedroom and showered quickly. He dressed haphazardly, and then stepped into his and Stiles’ walk-in closet, pricked his middle finger with a claw, and pressed the digit against a rune Stiles had etched into the wall. The false wall in the closet slid away (‘Every good superhero has a secret room, Derek’) and Derek stepped forward into the heavily guarded, heavily warded room. The entire room had previously existed in New York, and Stiles had somehow moved the entire room from New York to Sacramento and then slept for four straight days. Even Derek had somehow felt tired after the summoning spell, sleeping with his mate for almost an entire day. 

Much like Stiles and Lydia apparently had prepared for the worst, so had Stiles and Derek. For many years’ worth of full moons, while the wolves ran, Stiles used the moon’s own blessing of excess power to prepare for a world that Stiles may not be in. The amount of magic in this room overwhelmed Derek’s senses despite his natural resistance to it. Years of magic was contained in the items here. Derek collected what he needed quickly, placing the items into heavily warded bags to mask the scent and the power of the magical items within them. Some of them were unique – like the rune-etched half-moon necklace that Stiles had made from magically reinforced silver specifically for Allison, and the archer’s glove that he’d laced with magic to defend the huntress while she attacked, gifts that Stiles would have presented to Allison when she finally joined the pack. 

There were cuffs for each of the beta wolves imbued with Stiles’ power and Derek’s blood, adding resistance to alpha-wounding and increasing their strength. Five Kevlar vests hung on hangers in the far corner. Each individual vest had taken a full moon on its own, Stiles having poured as much of his magic as he could stand into the protection runes for each vest for the more fragile members of the pack and pack adjacent. Each vest was embroidered with initials; NJS, CA, AA, FV, and LWM. Derek packed them all away. When he was sure he had everything he needed, he stepped out of the room, and the warding and false wall sprung back into place, returning their closet to what it had been. 

He met Lupe on the first floor, sucked down what was honestly a disgusting cup of green liquid, and headed out to the car to return to Beacon Hills. 

\--

When Stiles wakes up after being taken by Kate and the currently unclassified magic-user, he wakes up screaming for Derek. Scott kneels next to him and tries to calm him, attempts at soothing hindered by the cuffs that are still on his wrists. Scott settles for a roar and flashing red eyes at Stiles, which succeeds in at least making the mage laugh as he catches his breath from the nightmare. “Alpha orders don’t work on humans.” His laughter dies quickly as he sits up, groaning and pressing a hand to his shoulder, wincing down at the open wound where his mate mark had once been. It’s red and angry, but not bleeding anymore. His back hurts from the cold cement floor, and his ankle and one of his elbows is screaming with pain. 

“What happened?” Scott asked, sitting back, “I heard you screaming and then Kate was pissed and they literally threw you back in here. I tried to cushion your fall the best I could, but I think I only succeeded in keeping your head from hitting the floor.”

Stiles blinked, “I mean, my head is arguably the most important part of me. Good thinking, I guess.” He closes his eyes for a moment and probes his body, careful to avoid the surface, careful to let the tiniest amount of his magic escape his skin, “Nothing’s broken. I’ll heal. Faster, if I could get these cuffs off.”

“I tried to cut them while you were asleep.” Scott said with a one-shouldered shrug, “I didn’t even scratch them.” 

Stiles nodded and drew a shaky breath. “Yeah, that’s not surprising. If they’re holding me back, there’s like, a list of five total people who might be able to get them off of me, and you’re not on it.” Stiles scoots so he can rest his back against the wall. 

“What did they do to you? You’re covered in what smells like your own blood, and your mate mark is….” Scott winces, eyeing the ragged wound where the simple scar used to sit. 

Stiles distinctly does not look at the mark again, “It feels like she tried to bite the damn thing off. They tried to shift my alpha-mate bond to Kate.” Stiles said softly, eyes anywhere but Scott. “Something fought them off. Lupe was definitely there, he definitely helped. But it was more than just Lupe.”

“Who is Lupe?” Scott asked, genuinely.

“Ah, right.” Stiles grinned wryly, “Lupe is Peter Hale’s mate. He’s an elf prince.”

Scott stared, “That was a joke, right?” His eyes narrowed. “Did you learn how disguise your heartbeat?”

Stiles let out a genuine laugh, “Oh, no, I mean, yes, I can disguise my heartbeat like fifty different ways but,” He held up his hands, “hard to do without magic. But yeah no I was dead serious. Remember my whole ‘seat at the Elf Queen’s table’ thing, I wasn’t kidding. And yes, somehow the undead uncle got to shack up with a prince.” Stiles rolled his eyes, “Anyway, I think he had something to do with why it ended, but it had to have been more. Part of my magic is housed in Derek, and Derek can’t usually call it up, but maybe it just like, reacted.” He tilts his head up and back, staring at the ceiling and ignoring the sharp pain in his shoulder from the motion. 

Scott stared at Stiles, studying him. “Dude, how powerful are you?” 

Stiles rolled his head back down to meet Scott’s eyes, “One time, I teleported from New York City to Washington D.C. instead of facing a hard situation like a real adult.” 

Scott’s stunned face had Stiles laughing so hard he could barely breathe.

\--

Derek, after locking the bags of magical items in the Hale vault, and having Lupe re-do the warding there, dropped Lupe off at the Sheriff’s station with Peter and Faris and drove to the animal clinic because apparently Malia wanted to talk. He was technically breaking his own rules for a grand total of fifteen minutes as he drove across town but was met in the parking lot of the clinic by Jackson and Lydia. Malia stood a few feet behind them, leaning up against the building with her arms crossed over her chest. 

Derek parked and scented each of his betas before stepping past them, and meeting Malia’s gaze, “You wanted to talk to me?”

Malia nodded, pushing off from the wall. She took a long breath. “I know you have a lot of reasons to hate Scott. When Stiles left, I hated Scott at first, but I wasn’t brave enough to leave. I wasn’t sure if I could be an omega without just reverting back to being a coyote, and I knew Stiles had worked so hard to help me that the least I could do for him was stay. The pack was weak, confused. We almost died a bunch of times. But Scott, he kept pushing through, kept believing that he was on the right path, that the righteous way, not killing things, was the right thing to do. He would still believe that if I’d never been attacked.” Malia’s hands dropped to her sides, fingers clenching and unclenching as the calm faded away and her anxiety spiked. 

“Scott killed the hunter that shot me. I think it surprised all of us, to see the Alpha get his hands dirty. I think even Scott was surprised, but he said it came down to instinct, and that somehow, his wolf overpowered him, and did what had to be done to keep me safe.” Malia blinked back tears, “Scott loves Stiles. He’s never stopped seeing Stiles as a brother, and after the confrontation with that hunter, Scott changed. He talked to Deaton, reached out to a few other nearby packs, anyone who would talk to him. Mason helped a ton, doing research, doing the things for the pack that Stiles would have done. Scott made an effort to learn how to be an alpha, how to defend his pack. 

Theo does a lot of the necessary killing, because it still hurts Scott deeper than any of the rest of us, and to Theo, as much of an ass as he definitely is, it’s the one thing he can do for Scott. I think Theo thinks every death he takes off of Scott’s conscience is a step towards forgiveness. I think he underestimates how many steps Scott is gonna make him take. Scott knows that Theo was the reason that he lost Stiles, and a part of Scott is never going to forgive Theo for that.

My point is, Scott isn’t the alpha he was seven years ago when Stiles left. He’s not the boy he was seven years ago. He’s grown up, and he’s become an alpha I’m proud to call my mate. Our pack isn’t nearly as strong as yours, we don’t have a super powerful mage or a banshee or an _elf_ , but we have a True Alpha who has held Beacon Hills with an unhelpful druid for an emissary for the last seven years. None of us would still be alive if not for Scott. So, when you talk to the people you’ve called in, all I ask is that you remind them that there’s more at stake than just Stiles.” 

“I think that is the most words in a row I have ever heard you say, Malia.” Lydia said, tentatively opening her arms to the werecoyote. Years separated their friendship, but the memories of what they survived were strong. Malia hesitated and then crashed into Lydia, burying her face into the banshee’s shoulder. 

Derek met Lydia’s gaze, and swallowed hard. Malia, more than anyone, knew what was at stake in this situation. Malia’s mate was also locked away, taken from his pack, leaving them with just an alpha-mate to lead them into a battle that could cost all of them their lives. “We get them both out.” Derek said softly, but firmly, “If Scott is the alpha you say he is, then I’ll trust him to keep my mate safe for the moment.” Derek’s hand rested tentatively against Malia’s back, between her shoulders, a brief touch, a physical confirmation to the words he spoke. “I’ll do the same.”

Malia pulled away from Lydia with a small smile, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. “Thank you, Derek.”

\--

After the conversation at the clinic, the four of them made their way to the downtown hotel that they’d chosen to house their supernatural guests. Sitting in the lobby with her kindle was Marian, who looked up at Derek with eyes so gently knowing that Derek had to steel himself against a wave of emotions. He kissed her cheek and thanked her for being there. She informed him that she and Faris had had a private chat with the hotel’s employees, and that after this was all over, they’d only remember a very large and loud wedding had taken place in the hotel during this week, with a lot of out of town guests.

Derek, and Malia after some encouragement, sat in a conference room to greet the various creatures and magic users that were here to help. Marian introduces the Second of the Schieve pack, and three more of their betas who are there to assist. Three packs in New York sent two betas each, who greet Derek and Malia with a respectful bearing of their throat, and then retreat upstairs to catch up on the sleep they lost on the flight. The Kansas City pack that Stiles stayed with so long ago sent their Left hand, their sorcerer emissary and two betas. Derek’s eyes went wide, and he stood quickly to greet the next werewolf who wandered into the room, an alpha flanked by his Second and one of his betas. 

“David, when we sent the call, you said three from your pack, I didn’t realize you’d be joining us.” Derek shook the other alpha’s hand.

David Polonius, the alpha of the Washington D.C. pack that had sheltered Stiles during his time in undergrad gave Derek a warm smile and clapped him on the shoulder, “Stiles is like a son to me, you know that. You both are. I have my own beef with Araya Calavera. I’m here to help.” He bared his throat the smallest amount in deference to Derek as the lead Alpha. He looked past Derek to Malia, “Werecoyote’s are rare. The only one I’ve ever met tried to kill me for asking her name. She nearly succeeded. Then she told me her name was Corinne.”

Derek looked away with a chuckle as Malia’s eyes flashed and she grinned, “I guess you had a run in with my mother then. She’s dead now.” David looked sufficiently impressed and told Derek to let him know where and his wolves would be needed. 

Derek returned to his seat next to Malia only to nudge her to stand when Lupe walked into the room, one elf at his side, and three additional to his back. The elf at Lupe’s side looked similar to Lupe but had lighter hair and darker blue eyes. He smelled strongly of magic and thrummed with power but had the same kind smile Lupe did. “Alpha Hale, Alpha-Mate Tate, my brother, Crown Prince Lino Saburo, and his bloodguard warriors. My mother wishes for me to be very clear that if either of her sons don’t come back from this battle, she’s laying claim to your first born.” Lupe smiles good-naturedly. 

Derek bows his head politely and nudges Malia to do the same. “Thank you for coming, Prince Saburo.”

Lino gives a shake of his head and a laugh that is remarkably similar to Lupe’s, “Please, Derek, you’re practically family, call me Lino.” He turns to Lupe and his eyes darken, “Mother tells me you suspect an elf is involved. Let’s go discuss this.” The brothers leave the room, the serious trio of elves following them at a respectful pace.

Malia leaned over to Derek, “What is a bloodguard?”

Derek turned back with a shrug, “Ask Peter or Lupe. Nobody bothered to tell me Lupe was a prince until like two weeks ago.” Malia snorted.

The last group of people to arrive made Derek incredibly nervous to even exist around. Fae were notoriously private creatures, who rarely got involved in the affairs of others. Of the five that were in the room, two had been at the wedding, and the small, silver-haired young woman who led them, Derek knew was royalty in her own right. 

“Princess Alayna, Thank you for coming.” Derek gave another bow of his head as he stood.

“We aren’t allowed to fight.” Alayna said quickly, “Mother didn’t want me to come, but it’s Stiles, so I’m here. I’m not allowed to fight, but we’re allowed to heal.” She patted Derek’s hand softly, but paused as she made contact, blinking a few times, “Did your elf really stick his hand into your chest?” She rolled her eyes and sighed, “Elves just love their dramatic bloody fun.” She and the other four fae turned and left the room. 

Malia turned to Derek, “Stuck his hand into your chest?” 

Derek sat back against the chair, exhausted, “It’s a long story. That’s the last of them.” 

Malia stood up to leave but stopped at the door. “Do you really think we’re going to get them back alive, both of them?”

Derek stood up and brought his right hand across his chest to rest over his mate mark. “Stiles swore on his mother’s grave not to leave me. I believe in him. So yes, I really think so.”

Malia gave a brief nod, “I believe in Stiles and I believe in Scott.” She departed quickly.

\--

“Word has it that those mongrels called in friends from around the country.” Araya Calavera slammed the door to the room that Kepa and Kate were lounging in, both of them sitting up. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Argent. I won’t die for you.”

Kate rolled her eyes and studied her nails, “No one is dying, Araya. As soon as Stiles does as he’s told, and helps us break the bond, you can kill McCall, and you’ll never see me or Derek again.”

Araya studied the once-proud hunter, “All of this for a werewolf, Kate. It’s hard to believe you were a true Argent once. You once burned down an entire house full of werewolves, and now you’re doing all of this to mate with one.”

Kate’s eyes flashed in the low light of the room, “You’re just a human, Araya. You wouldn’t understand what it means. Derek is my mate, where his bond used to be, now that I’m a shifter, it aches.” Kates eyes faded back to brown and the look in them sharpened, “That brat stole my mate and I’m going to get him back.”

“Are you sure you understand the consequences of playing with this particular ‘brat’?” Kepa asked. “I certainly do. He’s revered by the magical community. He’s descended from the Gajos mages, the mate of the Hale heir, beloved of the Fae and advisor to the Elf Queen. Do you know what is at risk if we fail? Are you prepared to die, Kate?”

Kate turned her head to Kepa and snorted, “Stiles Stilinski is not that important to anyone. He’s got a dad, he’s got a stolen mate and a stolen pack, and that’s about it. I don’t know what you’ve heard but I promise it can’t be correct.”

 _Can’t be, or do you not want it to be?_ Kepa had gone into this knowing that he likely wouldn’t survive. He sat and listened to Kate and Araya bicker and bitch about dealing with Scott McCall and Derek Hale, about dealing with the ‘crazies’ like Peter Hale, or the ‘abomination’ of Theo Raeken. They discussed pack members likely to give them trouble – the Hale pack’s Banshee, and the McCall’s half-feral werecoyote. They understood what danger existed from the non-human members of the pack. 

But both of them continued under the assumption that Stiles Stilinski- _Hale_ was nothing more than the same boy he’d been in Beacon Hills, or in Mexico, so many years ago. They refused to see him as what Kepa knew him as. 

The interloper. The invader. The mage.

Kepa would do whatever he could to help Kate and Araya because it meant he’d get to watch Stiles Stilinski suffer. The elves were a proud, strong race. Few outsiders were allowed onto their lands and into their ranks. And yet, without batting an eyelash, Maricella, his aunt, had accepted this human boy into their world. Had taught him the magic that only elves should know. And sent him on his way with an open invitation to return. And then years later, his cousin, Maricella’s youngest son and middle child, one of the brightest elves in the Kingdom had given up his claim to the throne and left to mate with a werewolf. To join a pack. 

Lupe had been the last person to look out for Kepa, the last person to care, it had seemed, and when Lupe left, Kepa had slowly allowed himself to fade into the background, to be swept into a world of the dark side of blood magic. And once he’d had a taste of the power, there was no stopping him. 

So, he didn’t really care what happened to the werewolves and the banshees and the werecoyote’s. He had agreed to help to watch Stiles suffer, and to watch Lupe suffer. There was only one wolf that Kepa actually cared about making sure died in the coming days.

And that was Peter Hale.


	15. Beacon Hills, Days 16-17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hold on to your seats, kids, it's gonna be a bumpy ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is absurdly long, but it was also the last chapter I wrote, so I had to bridge the gap from where 14 finished all the way until 16 began, and it was too much for one chapter, but not enough for two, so the result is this monster of an angst fest. 
> 
> enjoy. 
> 
> see you Saturday!

For most of the second day of their captivity, Stiles and Scott had been left to their own devices. Someone brought them food and bottles of water that Scott said didn’t smell tainted. Stiles only drank half of one of them and ate as little of the food as he could stand to. Without access to his magic, it was difficult to trust that he wasn’t being poisoned. Stiles carefully healed his internal damage as gently as he could, careful to keep the magic contained within himself, to not let it out, not let the cuffs turn his own power against himself.

Once night had well and truly fallen, only obvious because the dark room became even darker as the tiny crack under the door dimmed, Scott laid down on the floor on his side, holding his wrecked wrists out away from him. At this point, the wolfsbane burns would need the help of an actual magical healer to heal completely. The damage had been there too long. Scott didn’t look good, either, despite having eaten and drank more than Stiles had. “Is this the first time you’ve been away from your pack?” Stiles asked, sitting up and resting against one of the walls of their chamber.

“Yeah.” Scott said. “Malia and I don’t really go places. Deaton told us that packs weren’t receptive to other alpha’s being in their territory. We’d go to Sacramento sometimes, but that was about as far as we’d actually travel. Corey and Mason went on a cruise once.”

Stiles stared, glad that the miserable druid was already dead, or he’d have been added to the list of people Stiles was going to kill when this was over. “So basically, Deaton was keeping you isolated.” He set his jaw and pressed his tongue against the inside of his mouth, “I’m almost jealous that Derek got to kill him.” 

Scott rolled over so he could face Stiles, brown eyes tired in a way that Stiles knew was deeper than physical, “You lived apart from your pack, didn’t you? How did you do this? Does it ever hurt less?”

Stiles took a long breath in through his nose and looked towards the door. “No.” He said softly, “It doesn’t get better, but you get used to it. Other people help. When I was in DC I had an open invitation to join the pack there for dinners and occasional cuddles. Derek visited when he could. It got better for Derek once Isaac joined the pack, and he had someone who wasn’t Cora to cuddle with. It was good for Isaac too.”

“Would contact with you help even though you aren’t pack?” Scott asked, and for a moment, Stiles didn’t see him as a twenty-something true alpha werewolf, he was a 12-year-old who Melissa had dropped off with Stiles and his Dad, tears streaming down his face as he just repeated over and over again that his dad had _left them._ They were both too old for it, but Stiles had tugged Scott upstairs and they had laid down in Stiles’ bed and Scott had cried for a long time. Stiles didn’t judge him and didn’t say anything about it the next day at school. He knew how much it hurt to lose a parent.

Twenty-something year old Stiles also knew exactly how bad it hurt to be separated from your pack – from your mate – involuntarily. He didn’t answer with words, just moved so he was sat cross-legged near Scott, and tugged the Alpha’s head and shoulders into his lap, resting a shaky hand on Scott’s shoulder, and running the other one into Scott’s hair. The change in the alpha was instantaneous, his breathing more even, his eyes fell closed, and he let out a shaky sigh. 

That was how they were sitting when the door opened, and when Scott moved to spring away, Stiles tightened the grip on his head and pressed down with his hand and whispered, “Wait.”

Kate stepped into the door frame, the low light behind her casting a dim shadow. “Well isn’t this precious. The all-powerful true alpha getting cozy with the emissary from his rival pack.” 

Stiles didn’t rise to the bait, his face calm, his eyes stormy. “What do you want, Kate?”

“Other than Derek?” She smirked, “We need to have a chat, Stilinski. McCall too. Word has it that your pack has some powerful friends.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow but internally his heart soared. They’d done it. “Who are you more afraid of Kate, the elves or the fae?” 

Kate laughed a cold, dark laugh, “I’m not afraid of any of them, because apparently, according to my sources, you’re _revered_ by the magical community.” She stepped down the steps leading down into the room, and Stiles could see Araya behind her, holding a knife, tapping the dull edge of it against her palm. Two others entered the room, pulling Scott away from Stiles and shoving a taser back into his side, drawing a roar from the alpha. They bound his feet with wolfsbane soaked ropes and hooked his hands to a hook in the ceiling, leaving him dangling just close enough to the ground that his toes occasionally brushed against it. 

Stiles privately hoped that Scott was strong enough to pull the whole structure down around them but doubted that would be the case. Araya stepped into the room once her men were finished and walked over to Scott, grinning in her own sick way. She tapped the dull edge of the knife against Scott’s cheek and the alpha let out a low growl as a bright red line dragged onto his face. “Do you know your weapons, Stiles?” She asked, “Do you know what kind of knife can do that to an alpha without a sharp edge?”

Stiles glared at her, “Silver doesn’t really make good knives. It’s probably steel, and it’s probably either infused or spelled. If you take my cuffs off, I’d be happy to tell you exactly how that knife was made, but I doubt I’m here for my magical expertise.”

Araya chuckled and dragged the blade of it against Scott’s chest, the alpha howling, “Keep being cheeky, Stiles. It’ll make this so much more fun.” The wound didn’t heal, blood dripping down Scott’s chest and onto the ground. 

Kate sat down on the steps to the room, blocking Stiles’ avenue of escape even if he had it in his heart to leave Scott behind. “So that’s the game. I’m going to tell you what we’re going to do tomorrow when your friends show up, you’re going to agree, and if you mouth off, Scott will suffer for it. If you cooperate, then maybe you’ll survive long enough to see what happens to Derek tomorrow.”

Stiles bit his tongue to keep from responding, looked at Scott briefly and then turned back to Kate with a single nod. 

“Great.” Kate folded her hands together, “So tomorrow, when Derek gets here, you’re going to tell him to break the mate bond. Apparently, that’s the easy solution. The person capable of breaking the bond is the person who put it there in the first place.”   
Stiles really did try to hold back what came out of his lips next, but he failed spectacularly and tried to ignore Scott’s howl of pain, “You mean like he broke the one you had all those years ago?”

Kate glared at him, “Precisely like that, Stiles.” She flicked out a claw and studied it, “So tomorrow, you’re going to tell Derek that you want him to break the bond, that it’s what he absolutely has to do. And then after, Kepa will help me make him mine.”

Those were dangerous words. If Stiles had his magic, there was a lot he could do to prevent that particular event, but as he was, there was nothing he could do to stop it if Kepa used his magic to bind Kate and Derek in some way. Nothing he could do to protect his mate, or his pack, from Kate. Stiles held his breath and counted to ten, hands shaking as magic lashed unconsciously out of him. He looked up at the ceiling and tried to breathe through the backlash, biting the inside of his cheek hard to keep from letting her see him cry out. It took a few minutes to reign himself back in, to end the painful, unintentional onslaught. His magic, it appeared, was pissed.

What he wanted to say was ‘fuck you, you fucking bitch. I’m not letting you get anywhere near him. I’m not letting you put your disgusting hands on him again. I’m not letting you hurt him.’ What came out of his mouth was, “Okay, on one condition. Nobody else gets hurt. Just me. I’ll get Derek to break the bond, but Scott, and the rest of my pack, you let them walk out of there.”

Kate considered, studying him. She then, apparently disappointed by his lack of fight just stood up and grinned down at him, “I suppose we can make that deal. See you tomorrow, Stilinski.” She winked and headed up the stairs. Araya’s men pulled Scott down off the hook after Araya gave one more gratuitous slash with the knife across his chest. Araya looked at Stiles with more wariness in her eyes than Kate had, and kept a wide berth as she and her men left the small room, closing and locking the door behind them. 

Stiles moved as quickly as he could to Scott, untying the wolfsbane ropes and throwing. Them aside, ripping apart the strips of Scott’s shirt and soaking them in what was left of the water he hadn’t drank earlier. He laid the cool strips across the slashes on Scott’s chest. “I’m sorry.” He whispered. “I wish I could do more.” 

Scott took a long breath and shook his head, “Not your fault, Stiles.”

Stiles stared down at him, tears pricking at the edges of his eyes, “Can you promise me something, Scotty?” He asked, fighting to keep his magic under control, fighting to keep himself from spiraling into the panic attack that was just at the edge of his consciousness, fighting to keep from throwing up from the fear of the whole situation, fighting so many things that for once, his anger at Scott felt minimal. 

Scott blinked a few times, eyes clearer, “Anything.” 

Stiles used the back of his hand to wipe away the tears that had escaped, “If you survive tomorrow, and I don’t, promise me you’ll take care of my Dad. And my pack, if Kate wins. Promise me you’ll be their alpha but give them space. Don’t let them run away again. Cora and Peter aren’t that bad, I promise. Lydia is Lydia. Jackson isn’t the asshole he used to be. Isaac is fragile, he needs a lot of support. Faris is a good man and a good mage, and Lupe is the best leash you could ever put on Peter, because he’s what Peter wants. And Derek, if he survives, promise me you’ll keep him safe from himself. Promise me, Scotty.”

Scott had tears in his eyes listening to the tone that Stiles used to talk about his pack, a part of him wishing desperately that Stiles would use that tone to talk about him. “I promise. But promise me something back?” Stiles just nodded, unsure of what he had left to lose. “I want you to promise me that tomorrow, when we walk out of this warehouse, Kate and Araya are dead, for good.”

Stiles blinked a few times, a laugh bubbling up in his chest, “Scott McCall are you asking me to commit murder for you?” 

Scott chuckled himself, wincing, “Justifiable homicide at best. They’re not good people, Stiles. I need this to be over. Promise me that when we survive tomorrow, it will be over.” 

Stiles rested his forehead against Scott’s shoulder, letting himself sink into the hope contained in that word. When. When they survived. Even now, when everything in Stiles was screaming that they had lost, Scott believed. Scott had always believed, good or bad, that things were going to work out for the best. Stiles stayed there for a long time, and when he lifted his head, whiskey brown met chocolate in the low light of their cell and Stiles, with the most conviction he could muster whispered, “I promise.”

\--

After a Lydia-enforced, Isaac-assisted nap, Derek gathered the Hale pack, and various pack-adjacent humans and asked everyone to meet him at the Hale vault. Careful not to arouse suspicion they arrived over the course of an hour, some through the entrance under the high school sign, and others through the basement entrance in the school. He waited for everyone to be there before he moved towards the bags he’d stashed earlier and unzipped them, hearing more than one of the pack gasp as the scent of magic – of Stiles’ magic, magic that smelled like the preserve on a warm, still night to Derek – filled the air in the small space. 

He passed the vests around first, to Faris and Lydia, Chris and Allison and finally to John, who took it with a shaking hand. “After Stiles learned about his mother, about the fact that she might have seen something so terrible in the future that it was worth losing her own life for, he became obsessed with the idea of protecting his pack if something happened to him.” Derek pointed to the five humans (or human-lite, in Lydia’s case). “You five don’t heal. Those vests won’t stop everything, but they’ll stop a lot, and what they don’t stop, they’ll heal. Wear them under your clothes, not over. Sleep in them tonight so your own scent covers the scent of magic.”

“Is that even possible?” Jackson said, eyeing the vest in Lydia’s hand carefully, “Stiles’ magic reeks.”

Derek gave him a long look and the beta just shrugged. Derek moved back to the bags and pulled out the cuffs, passing them out to each of his wolves, “You do heal, and depending on the last time Stiles charged your runes, you should be mostly impervious at least for a time. These cuffs aren’t designed to stop an attack, but they will accelerate your healing, and help increase your strength levels should you need them.”

He reached back into the bag and drew out the last of what he’d brought. “Allison.” He said, swallowing hard. He shouldn’t be giving Allison these gifts. These were Stiles’ gifts to give, but he wasn’t here to give them and it broke Derek’s heart. He held out the soft, red leather archer’s glove, stitched with hundreds of runes that already sang with power. She took it gently, and gripped it tightly, tears in her eyes. Derek held out the necklace briefly before unclasping it and placing it around her neck. “Stiles made these the full moon after you brought Isaac to us.” He said softly. The pack could hear, but the tone made it clear that his was for Allison only, “You said you weren’t ready to join a pack, not that you didn’t want to. Stiles said that meant you were going to, and when you did, he wanted to protect you like he did the rest of his pack. The glove is supposed to feed into the shields that already exist in the necklace, but most specifically they protect your chest, back and arms, so that even if you go down, you can still shoot.” 

Allison nodded, leaning up to kiss Derek’s cheek before stepping back to where she’d been sitting between Isaac and her dad, resting her forehead against the werewolf’s shoulder as Chris studied the glove. Derek leans heavily against the wall, studying his pack. He knows this is where he’s supposed to say something about how they’re all going to survive and everything is going to be fine tomorrow, but he just can’t find the words. 

John Stilinski, arms wrapped around the vest tightly, speaks instead. Derek is comforted by it, Stilinski’s usually knew the right things to say in his experience. “If you ask the McCall pack, there’s already been a war for Beacon Hills. And they’re probably right. A war was fought a long time ago, a lot of them, really, and each one had its costs. Some of them were larger than others.” He looked at Allison for a moment. “Right now, Beacon Hills is at its most fragile. We aren’t missing a couple of betas, facing down an alpha pack, or a darach, or dread doctors, or a group of amateur hunters so scared they can’t think straight. Right now, Beacon Hills’ heart is what is missing now.” John takes a moment to breathe. 

All of us have a lot of reasons to hate Scott. I’ve never forgiven him for the pain he caused my son. But he’s the alpha of this territory, and he’s done his best to protect it over the years. And Stiles, Stiles belongs to this territory, even if you all hate it, it’s a fact. Stiles was born here, it was the first battle ground he ever fought on. It’s his home. And he’s missing too. So now, it’s time for the original protectors of Beacon Hills to step up.” He turns to look at Derek, “The Hales protected this land for a long time before Scott McCall and Stiles Stilinski were ever even born.” He turned his gaze to Cora, and then to Peter. “Tomorrow, you do it again. You get my son back. We get Scott back. Tomorrow, we end this, once and for all. Kate Argent has done enough damage on this land, don’t you think?”

Derek looked at Chris, waited for the Argent to object, to argue for his sister, but he was met with cool blue eyes and a sharp nod of agreement. Derek turned his gaze back to his father-in-law. “We’ll get him back.” He said, wishing he believed his own words, “I promise.”

\--

Scott falls asleep in Stiles’ lap, the mage studying the door, wondering if it’s even locked, how sturdy it even is, if he’s been trapped in this hellhole by nothing more than his own fear. There’s a part of him, a roughly-16-year-old part of him that is really angry with himself for being so fucking passive about the whole thing, for going with the plan, for agreeing to Kate’s demands, for putting himself at risk as it was. The same part of him is angry for not fighting back, for being so dependent on his magic that he can’t bear to fight without it. 

At 16 and 17, he fought werewolves and kanimas and chimeras and the Oni and he didn’t even think twice about using magic. Magic had barely existed for him, it was just a once- or twice-off occurrence that had lead to him being kind of a badass. Now, magic was worked into every ounce of who Stiles was. He used magic for menial things, like reheating his coffee, or flicking dust off of his clothes. He used magic – the whole pack did – for major things, like defense and protection, and minor things like pregnancy prevention and creature comforts like sound- and scent-warding spells. It felt, most days, like Stiles had more magic than he’d ever know what to do with. 

Until he had none at all.

But did he have none?

Absently, the hand resting on Scott’s chest drifted across his body to touch gently at the still-gaping wound on his shoulder that had thankfully stopped bleeding. Something had fought off Kate and Kepa’s attempts to force the bond. He’d assumed at first that it was Lupe, somewhere in the haze he remembered distinctly the sound of Lupe’s magic. It sounded like a very specific elvish nursery rhyme that Lupe had taught Stiles so many years ago when they’d first met in the elf kingdom. But there had been another magic there. One that sounded like a different kind of song, but a song that hit deep inside Stiles’ memory. 

It sounded like his mother’s voice. A soft, quiet hum. 

_Mieczysław, if your mother saw a glimpse of you in danger in the future, we think it is likely that she may not have died from the human disease that it seemed._

_She may have drained her power into you, Mieczysław. She may have given you the power so that when the time comes, when the vision she saw came to be, you would be strong enough to live._

_\--_

_“But, if I had two mages’ worth of magic in me, wouldn’t it hurt?” Stiles remembered asking his aunt when they had a chance to speak on the phone. “You said one person isn’t meant to hold the power of two.”_

_“If Claudia did this, she locked the magic behind safeguards. Likely, it wouldn’t have even been accessible to you until you were mated to Derek, until there was a safe receptacle for the magic to live in. If you had ended up in another life, with another person, that magic may have been locked behind Claudia’s safeguard for all of your life. This way, when you need it, it will be there.”_

The barrage of memory hit him hard and so fast that he audibly gasped, waking Scott, who looked up at Stiles with concern before the mage shook his head, and the alpha’s eyes closed again. 

He had magic. He had the magic of two Gajos mages. Half of the magic, the magic that was gifted to him by his mother, was in Derek, had gotten there through the mate-bond. Suddenly, tomorrow didn’t feel so terrifying. Suddenly, Stiles actually believed in the promise he had made to Scott. It could all be a lie. It could all just be poor assumptions made by mages who hardly knew the woman his mother had been. Tomorrow could come and he could be as useless as he was in this moment, watching his once-best friend suffer in his sleep, hoping someone came to rescue them. 

Or, maybe, his mother really had been a powerful seer, and maybe, she’d sacrificed herself so her son could live. Only tomorrow held the truth. 

\--

The warehouse that the Hale and McCall packs had originally met in became the staging location for the rescue efforts. The order to spend the hours of the morning with your own pack, family, or group, had been issued the night before, but as the mid-morning sun rose to it’s highest point, something of a war council formed at the warehouse. 

Chris Argent and John Stilinski arrived first. They were neutral parties, for all intents and purposes. If push came to shove, no one doubted where their loyalties lay, but officially, they held no pack bonds or allegiances. Derek arrived next, with David and Marian in tow, along with Cora, David’s second, and the Reno pack’s Second, and took their place to the right of Chris and John. Malia, Liam and Theo stood next to the rest of the wolves. Lupe delicately placed himself between the Werewolves and his brother, who was perpetually flanked by his three bloodguard warriors. The fae took the fourth side of the table, Princess Alayna smiling serenely as if she wasn’t one of the most terrifying creatures at this table. 

(Derek had asked Lupe the night prior, what the significance of the bloodguard was. They were three trained warriors who had been with Lino all his life. In a fight, they were his sword and shield, and through the blood bonds that tie them together, Lino wields his own inherent magic, and the magic of the three elves around him. It makes them a terrifyingly lethal unit. Most stand down when a blood-guarded elf arrives in a battle. It is the reason, Lupe had elaborated, that elves fought so few battles overall.)

The plan laid out seemed simple enough. The fae would form a wide perimeter, assisted by several of the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s deputies, insuring that anyone who went into this fight was held accountable. The fae would alert the sheriff’s deputies that someone was trying to escape, and they’d be collected before they could get too far. Alayna made it very clear that the fae couldn’t interfere until the battle was over. Once it was over, they’d come in and help to heal the survivors. 

The Hale pack, protected by Stiles’ magic, would take the first offensive. Chris, John, and Allison, with long range weapons, would offer as much cover as they could during the initial assault. Derek hated that he was being forced to stay behind, but Cora had argued that at the end of the day, he had to save his strength to save Stiles. John had sided with her, and it had been lost after that. The rest of the wolves would attack after the initial spray of bullets was over, guarded by the rest of the magic users, taking out the people that the Hale wolves had failed to. Once any forces outside the building were neutralized, Lydia, Derek, Lupe, Lino and his bloodguard would enter the building, and once the events outside had settled down, the rest of the pack would move forward into the building. Everyone else would stay outside to guard prisoners and protect the exits should anyone manage to escape.

What happened beyond that would be impossible to predict. They could only see the outside of the building. 

\--

Things started going wrong as soon as they started. They had expected most of the enemies to be humans, hunters, under Araya’s control. They had not expected well-equipped forces, wolfsbane grenades and several magic-users defending the hunters. They had not expected to lose two of the New York City betas, one from Kansas City, and most heartbreakingly for Derek, the Second of Alpha Polonius’ pack. There wasn’t time for tears or goodbyes right in the moment. There were still bullets flying. 

Derek, from his vantage point, winced as one of the Reno betas was surrounded, claws itching to do something, anything to help. Marian, who was far enough back to be safe, but close enough to shield the wolves from the seemingly endless spray of bullets was distracted momentarily by a soldier who had crept too close to the magic users. Derek was seconds from breaking his own agreement and jumping down when he sees Cora, still largely unharmed thanks to Stiles’ magic, throw herself at the soldier approaching the mages and sorcerers. He watched Marian with fire in her eyes turn and throw a hand towards the surrounded beta, but she’s beaten to it by a blast of power from Faris, knocking away the Calaveras soldiers and throwing a tight shielding spell around the beta. It’s a spell Derek has seen Stiles use a hundred times, and he glows with pride to see how far the mage has grown. Marian gives Faris a fierce smile and whispers a thank you before she returns to protecting her own batch of wolves.

When it seems like the majority of the fighting is over, Derek and his group move in, forming a protective half-circle around Lydia. Derek gives a warning howl to the wolves, and then Lydia screams. The remaining soldiers drop to the ground holding their ears, easily picked off by the wolves who were shielded from the scream by their respective magic-user. 

Just as they’re about to breach the door, Derek turned around and froze, eyes flashing red dangerously. Everyone froze and stared as Derek’s nostrils flared again, and he pushed through the clumps of enemies to grab a man by the throat and throw him across the ground, breathing heavily, beta-shifted. He stalked towards the man but is intercepted by John Stilinski. “We agreed no more casualties than necessary. What’s special about this one? Use your words, Derek.” 

Derek stared at his father in law for a long moment before he drew in a breath and the fangs drew back in, “He’s the one who shot Stiles.” He said, and the man, who had been trying feebly to move further away, froze. “I memorized his scent.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” There was a chorus of “lie” that rose up around the space, far too many walking lie-detectors to attempt such a feeble one. 

John nodded at Derek and turned around to face the man, “Did you shoot my son?” He asked in a calm, even tone.

The man, reduced from a smirking, cocky man, to a pile of shaking bones just stared, unwilling to answer the question, “Please help me.”

John squatted, “Did you shoot my son?” He emphasized each word individually, furious blue eyes boring into the terrified human.

“Yes.” 

The whispered word was barely out of the man’s mouth before the distinctive bang of a gunshot rang out, and the man cried out and then looked down at his stomach, where blood was blooming from the wound. Derek and John whipped around to look at Chris Argent, who stood with a handgun resting gently at his side, gave a half-smirk and shrugged one shoulder, “I guess maybe if he had a werewolf mate and a pack, he might survive this, but I’m betting that’s not the case. You have people to save.” He patted Derek on the shoulder and nodded towards the door.

Derek strode towards it, intercepted by Malia, who was bloody but largely unhurt. “I’m going with you.” She snarled. Derek nodded, and the two of them headed into the building. 

As Derek and Malia stepped in, but before the rest of their party could join them, they were both thrown away from the entrance to the ground as a tall, lean, dark-haired man appeared out of nowhere and walked past them with a sick smile on his face and his arms crossed over his chest. 

Lupe bristled immediately, rolling his shoulders back, one hand already clutching a dagger while the other one clenched and relaxed at his side. “Well at least if you’re going to do disgusting things you have enough sense to glamour yourself.” 

Lino, passive and relaxed at his brother’s side, just smirked, “I think you can drop the act now, though, Cousin.”

The air around the man seemed to shimmer for a moment and Derek watched in abject horror as his hair grew, his ears spiked, and his skin took on a garishly pale color. “I knew I’d get to see Lupe today, but what a treat it is to see two of my favorite cousins. I didn’t realize that Aunt Maricella let her favorite pet son out of her little enchanted forest anymore.” 

“Keep my mother’s name out of your mouth, Kepa.” The words rolled out of Lino’s mouth with enough power that even as an alpha, Derek wouldn’t have wanted to defy the order. 

The air sparked with magic as Kepa thrust a hand out, and a sound like thunder broke out as Lupe’s hand came up, and the magics clashed against each other. Faris, on instinct, sprung forward to defend his packmate, only to find himself knocked back. Derek winced as he heard Faris’ head crack against the pavement, hoping Stiles’ magic would prevent the worst of the damage. Two of the Reno wolves and Marian descended on him quickly.

Derek tore his eyes from Faris and the Reno wolves just in time to see Lupe crash against the ground and Peter launch himself towards the dark elf. He stopped midair, and the elf holding him just started laughing, “This is what you left the kingdom for, Lupe? This once-dead, beta wolf? Was he worth losing your title, your prestige? Was he worth it?”

Lupe, who was clearly outmatched by the other man, pushed himself to his feet slowly, leaning on one of Lino’s bloodguard. “He’s worth all of it and more.” He said, blue eyes full of rage as he stared at Peter, held in midair by Kepa. 

Kepa just laughed, and slammed Peter into the ground with a quick sweep of his hand. Lino’s bloodguard moved in to try to take him down, but the elf just laughed and flicked them away. “Don’t bother, Lino. Even you and your mighty bloodguard aren’t a match for the kind of power I have right now.” Kepa turned to look over his shoulder at Derek, “Do you know how much power is in even a few ounces of your pretty mate’s blood, Alpha? It’s intoxicating.” He turned back to the other elves and the rest of the pack. “And do you know what else consuming Stiles’ blood does for me?” He asked, squatting next to Peter, who was still restrained by Kepa’s magic. 

Kepa reached out to stroke a hand over the cuff on Peter’s wrist, his lips twisted upwards as he tugged it off and held it in his hand, “It means I can do this.” He crushed the cuff in his hand and whispered quietly for just a moment. 

Everything else happened so fast that Derek lost track of Kepa, his eyes fixed on the ground where Peter was….dying. Suddenly, every bullet that had been fired and reflected by Stiles’ magical shields seemed to have gone right through them, and Peter choked up a mouthful of blood, eyes wide and breathing shallow. Lupe was at his side in a second, eyes flaring silver even as tears fell, pressing his hands into Peter’s chest as he tried to use whatever he had. “No, no, please.” Curses fell from Lupe’s mouth to match the tears that dropped onto Peter’s increasingly pale skin.

Lino dropped to his knees beside his brother and stilled Lupe’s hands, both of them resting on Peter’s unmoving chest. “Lupe.” He said softly, his voice thick with emotion, “Magic has a price, you know this.” He whispered.

Derek’s stupor was finally broken by the pain of the pack bond being ripped away, and he closed the gap to grab one of his uncle’s hands, looking up at Lupe with pained eyes, “Can you tap into Stiles’ magic through me?” He asked, looking down at Peter’s still body. He didn’t want to believe that it was true, didn’t want to believe that this was happening, that Peter, his Uncle, one of the last of his family, was dead again.

Lupe shook his head and crumpled against Peter’s bloody chest. 

Lino stared at Derek for a long moment, and then stared at Lupe. “Did you mean what you said, Lupe?” He whispered, “About Peter meaning that much to you?”

Lupe lifted his head and stared at his brother, eyes bright, “He’s everything.” 

Lino nodded, and turned to look at the bloodguard. “I will pay the price for you, then.” All three of the stoic elves nodded in tandem, and one of them stepped forward, kneeling between the brothers, wrists outstretched. “It has been my life’s honor to serve you, Crown Prince Lino Saburo. May your reign be long and your life be fruitful.” The elf said, the stoic façade breaking into a fond smile for just a moment as Lino wrapped a hand around the man’s wrist. 

Lupe stared at his brother with eyes wide, one hand pressed over his mouth for just a moment before clutching the other wrist. Both brothers placed their other hands on Peter’s chest, and in tandem, all three elves’ eyes glowed silver in the afternoon sun. It took a long few moments for the elf between them to slump, and then Peter’s wounds began to heal. His eyes blinked and his face shifted into awareness, staring at the three elves above him, before looking at Derek with confusion in his eyes. Derek rested his hand against his Uncle’s throat and felt the pack bond slot back into place.

When the bullet holes scattering Peter’s body were all gone, the elf between the brothers was carefully carried away by the remaining bloodguard, both of whom had suspiciously red eyes. Lupe pressed a soft kiss to Peter’s lips before turning to his brother, “I’ll never be able to thank you enough.” He said, resting a hand on Lino’s shoulder. “I know what they mean to you.” 

Lino shook slightly but gave his brother a sad but sure smile, “I know what he means to you.” He said, motioning to Peter, before turning to look the now twice-resurrected wolf in the eye, “I truly hope you never give me reason to regret that choice, Peter.” 

Peter, who was now sitting up, nodded, licking his lips before pulling himself to his feet, “You have my word, Prince. Thank you.” 

\--

Kepa, who had finally shed his human glamour and looked every bit the once-royal elf that he was burst into the room where Kate and Araya were sitting, “They’re here. I’ve given them something of a distraction, but it won’t last long. Most of the soldiers outside are dead or captured, and their forces are hardly touched.”

Kate grinned as she jumped to her feet, “I guess we should get ready for the main event, then.” 

The three of them move to the room where Stiles and Scott had been kept. Kate pulls Stiles away from Scott, wrapping a hand delicately around his throat, “Do you want another hit, Kepa?” She asked, grinning darkly as Stiles’ eyebrows pull together in confusion. 

Kepa lunged forward, dragging four sharp claws through the wound on Stiles’ shoulder, drawing a cry from the mage. The Elf lapped at the wound for a moment before licking the blood off of his fingers with a dark glee.

“Are you vampire-elf? Is that even a thing?” Stiles asked, rolling his eyes, grunting as Kate pulled him against her body easily, the hand on his throat gaining claws that threatened his skin. 

“You’re a powerful mage, Stiles.” Kepa purred, “To an elf who knows how to use it, your blood sings with power. It’s how I killed Peter.” 

“How you did what now?” Kate aid, cocking her head and grinning, “Peter Hale? I didn’t know you had it in you.” 

Stiles, who had felt the bond snap and then reappear just raised an eyebrow at the two, “Hate to break it to you, but Peter isn’t dead. I’m not entirely sure how he managed to cheat death again, but I guess he’s just really lucky.” 

Kepa glared at Stiles and stalked from the room. Kate just rolled her eyes and tugged Stiles out after them, Araya pushing a severely weakened Scott from the room to the center of the warehouse. Araya moved so that Scott was a physical shield, keeping at taser pressed into his side and a gun to his head. Kate held Stiles against her body, one clawed hand gripping his throat. Kepa placed himself just behind Kate. 

Seconds later, Stiles saw Derek enter the room, blood-streaked, red-eyed and furious. Stiles held up his hand, and yelled, “STOP. EVERYONE STOP.”


	16. Beacon Hills, Day 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Derek was four feet from his mate, and he couldn’t step any further and it physically hurt."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so. 
> 
> This is the second chapter I wrote of this fic. I wrote the first chapter, and then I wrote this one, so this is what it's all been leading up to. It's been tweaked a lot of times but I think I'm happy with it. 
> 
> Two more chapters after this one. One actual chapter and then an epilogue. 
> 
> Thanks for coming along on this ride!
> 
> See you Monday!

As soon as everyone was on their feet and ready, they dive into the warehouse. Derek is the first to barrel into the wide, open room of the warehouse, John Stilinski at his heels. At first, all he sees is Stiles, pale and bruised, frozen still in the harsh fluorescent lighting. It’s enough to bring back flashbacks of a month ago, of looking at Stiles and watching a man – a man dying outside – fire a bullet into Stiles. Of holding him while he nearly died. He snaps himself out of the memory and skids to a halt as the rest of the situation snaps into view. He throws out an arm to stop the Sheriff short of reaching his son. 

Stiles is holding up his right hand, holding it out to Derek, and he’s begging Derek to stop, to just stop and wait. The human part of Derek loses to the wolf, as it obeys its mate’s panicked request. Stiles is standing, and wrapped around him is Kate Argent, a clawed hand wrapped around Stiles’ throat, just beginning to prick at the skin. Next to them is Kepa, dirty and bloody from his earlier fight, mouth dripping with blood. A sharp inhale causes Derek’s vision to spin as he realizes whose blood is on Kepa’s lips. Lupe’s voice flashed into Derek’s head; _Elves are not naturally malicious, not meant to do harm. This elf, he is something more, something dark. He will not hesitate to use blood magic in the way of darkness, of corruption._

Across the room, where Malia, Liam and Theo had headed immediately after entering the room, was Araya Calavera, a taser pressed into Scott’s side as she holds a gun to his head. Someone – Derek’s mind slowly supplies that it was Stiles – was screaming for everyone to stop. The McCall pack stopped short, Malia snapping and growling as Liam and Theo did their best to hold her back. Scott didn’t look good – he stank of wolfsbane and his skin looked pale, slash wounds barely healing. 

Jackson and Lydia spill into the room next, and Jackson grabs Lydia around the middle before she rushes at Stiles, the banshee spitting with anger, her control shattered in the heat of the battle, and the sight of Stiles. Everyone flinches at the scream on her lips before suddenly, Lydia grasps at her throat, the air cut off.

“STOP. Kepa, let her go. You promised me if I cooperated no one was going to get hurt.” Stiles tried to look at Kate, wincing as the claws dug. Derek growled, still fighting the instinct to get to Stiles, knowing objectively that Kate could kill him before he had taken a full step. The elf next to them had a hand up and a cruel smile on his face as he used magic to suffocate Lydia into silence, his eyes dark, slate grey.

“Tell her to behave.” Kate said.

“Lydia, calm down, please. Please.” Stiles’ eyes were bright with unshed tears, and as Lydia’s mouth snapped shut, the elf dropped his hand. 

Lydia fell to the ground, sputtering, and Jackson crouched, torn between turning to comfort his mate and keeping his eyes peeled on the battle. Isaac and the Argents spill into the room at that moment, and Chris’ eyes immediately begin darting between his sister and Araya, mouth set in a grim line. Allison moved to pull Lydia from Jackson’s arms, and he lets her with a nod, moving with Isaac to stand behind Derek, Isaac tugging the Sheriff back and bracing the older man’s shoulders, feeling him shake with a mix of anger and fear beneath his grasp.

Lupe limped in, supported on either side by Lino’s remaining bloodguard, exhausted from the earlier battle and healing Peter. Lino and Peter file in afterwards, Peter’s eyes solid, piercing blue as he stares down the corrupted elf. Kepa gives an impressed nod at the werewolf. “I guess it says something that little Lino sacrificed a bloodguard to save you. I guess you’re pretty special.”

Stiles tried to turn his head but only managed to look as far as Lino, a tiny sob building in his chest. He knew what the bloodguard meant to the crown prince, lifelong friends, lifelong guardians. To lose one was like losing a part of himself. “I’m so sorry, Lino.” He called out, “But thank you.” The elf prince, eyes full of pain, nodded in response.

Lupe examined the situation, his eyes raking over Stiles and Kate before falling on the elf for a long moment before muttering, “You’re a _disgrace_ to the race of Elves, and a disgrace to this family.”

The dark elf just stood there, smirking. He shrugged, licking the blood from his lips slowly. “Are you sure I’m the disgrace, Lupe? You left the family to join a werewolf pack, to be the _mate_ of a werewolf that isn’t even an alpha. And now that werewolf has cost your brother a bloodguard. I don’t think you have much room to talk about grace.”

Peter snarled but Lupe held out a hand behind him, wrapping Peter’s clawed fingers with his own, calling the wolf off. “Stiles, on behalf of my family, I apologize for my cousin’s part in this.” 

Stiles flicked his eyes to Lupe, “If your mom sends me some of those little butter almond pastries, we’ll call it even.” He held up his hands, “I figured out he was an elf, pretty early. I was wondering how a mage pulled off an elf spell so well – I thought I was the only one that could do that.”

Kate just rolled her eyes and dug her claws further into Stiles’ throat, effectively cutting off any more of the conversation, “Stiles, we’re not here for small talk.” She glanced across the room to Araya, who gave a curt nod as she turned the taser on again and Scott gave a half-hearted roar before he slumped further onto the ground, Araya’s gun still pressed against the back of his head. Malia roared with anger, and Liam and Theo both tightened their hold on their alpha-mate, begging her to calm down.

Stiles gritted his teeth together, “What part of no one gets hurt but me do you people not understand?”

“The part where you’re not holding up your part of the bargain, Stiles. Tell Derek what he’s gonna do.”

Derek was four feet from his mate, and he couldn’t step any further and it physically hurt. He sniffed the air, trying to get a lock on what Stiles was doing, what his plan was, if he even had a plan. He was at the mercy of Kate, her claws already deep enough in his throat to be dangerous. There were still those black metal cuffs on each of his wrists, and the skin beneath them – including the still healing patch that Derek had caused last month – was raw, and bloody in spots. He had a bloody, gaping wound on his shoulder where he’d once had a perfectly healed mate-bite, and he looked exhausted.

Stiles drags in a ragged breath, and turns to Derek, closing his eyes for a long moment before he speaks, “Let Scott go first.” 

“So you can sacrifice yourself? No.”

“What does it matter to you, the mate bond breaks either way?”

Derek’s entire body shuddered, “No.” He said, shaking his head, “No.” He looked at Stiles, whose eyes were still burning into his own. 

Stiles’ heart was beating hard in his chest and he stared at Derek and begged him to read his mind. He hoped to high heaven that he was right about what he was about to do. He hoped that Derek wouldn’t go immediately feral if the bonds broke. He hoped that everyone would live long enough for him to enact his plan, and that maybe Lino and the remaining bloodguard would be able to keep Kepa from his part of the plan. Lino looked tired, Lupe was clinging to consciousness and Kepa had consumed a lot of blood before rejoining them, plus the shot of Stiles’ own magic-heavy blood. Stiles didn’t love their chances. He hoped that Derek believed him, trusted him, could see that Stiles had a plan. 

Kate scoffed, “It’s not like he can do anything to help you. Throw the broken alpha to his little pack, Araya, give them something to keep themselves busy with.” 

Araya frowned but fired two quick shots, one into each of Scott’s limp forearms, and then stepped away from the wolf, keeping her gun focused on his head until she had moved closer to Kepa and Kate, clearly trusting them to protect her from the McCall wolves. “Get on with it, Kate. Let me see if you can bring Derek Hale to his knees like you promised.” Malia had gathered Scott’s limp body into her arms, Theo and Liam each desperately tried to dig out the wolfsbane laced bullets. Chris Argent looked at Allison for a long moment before the elder Argent moved to cross the room. Lupe tapped him as he passed and tossed him a pouch of a mixed wolfsbane, something Stiles had made for neutralization of an unknown wolfsbane source. Scott barely made a sound as they got to work saving his life.

Araya rolled her eyes and looked at Kate, “See, I told you letting him go was a bad idea. Your idiot brother is going to save him now. Should have killed him while we had the chance.”

“That wasn’t the deal.” Stiles’ voice sounded ragged as he closed his eyes again, willing this all to be some kind of sick nightmare, but the bite of burning pain in his throat proved that this was in fact real. The ache in his wrists from his magic rebounding back onto him was itching at the edge of his consciousness. His head was spinning slightly from the panic and lack of food. “Derek, break the mate bond.” He whispered, opening his eyes to flash the alpha-mate eye. 

Kate grinned widely, “Yeah Derek, do what your pretty little mate says.”

Derek’s own eyes flashed red and he took several steps back, shaking his head, “No. I won’t. Stiles don’t do this.” 

“You have to.” Stiles said, sounding resigned but smelling angry. “She tried to just transfer it to her, but she couldn’t do that. You fought her off. I tried to explain it didn’t work that way. She’s won, Derek. She’s going to get what she wants either way. Please, just do it. She’ll kill me if you don’t.” Stiles looked around the room with his eyes, wincing as Faris finally stumbled into the rooms, supported by one of the Reno werewolves and Cora. Faris looks exhausted, magically tapped, leaning heavily against the wolf from Reno. “And now the whole pack is here.” Which meant his heart would stop for good once he was dead.

Derek bit back a curse, “Kate, what do you want? Why are you doing this?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Kate said, reaching into her pocket with the hand that wasn’t gripped around Stiles’ throat. She pulled out a ring and held it out on her palm. Stiles’ missing wedding band. Tears fell from Stiles’ eyes as he grabbed for it instinctively, stopping himself only as it shifted the claws in his throat. “This should have been mine. You should have been mine. You broke our bond, Derek, and I want it back.” She curled her hand around the ring and tucked it back away. 

Derek met Stiles’ eyes and took a long, ragged breath, “That isn’t how this works, Kate. You can’t force a bond.”

“You can’t force a threefold bond, no. But, Der, we’ve proved before that we can start a partial one a long, long time ago. I’m surprised it took you so long with Stiles, haven’t you known him since he was 16 as well?”

Derek’s face went pale white and Cora snarled loudly and stormed closer to her brother, stopped short by Jackson’s hand on her hip. He heard Chris Argent’s hushed, “No” under his breath. Allison bit off a soft cry and buried her face in Lydia’s hair as the banshee let out a quiet “You bitch.” They all knew the story, knew what Kate had done, but to hear the admission from her own lips made it more sinister.

“Derek.” Stiles’ voice brought his attention back, “I need you to break the bond, or she’ll kill me.” She might anyway, but Stiles was banking on that not happening. If that happened, it was all for nothing, and Stiles just had to hope that lost in their grief, his pack could find it in them to survive and kill the three monsters in the room. “Please, Der, it’s really starting to hurt.” He’d apologize later for this, if they survived. He’d apologize on end for weeks.

Tears streamed out of Derek’s eyes and he felt John stiffen next to him. He turned his head minutely towards the elder Stilinski and studied his expression, followed his gaze to Stiles’ hands, one clenched, one relaxed, fingers tapping a familiar pattern against his leg. To a casual observer it was a nervous tic. To Derek and John, it was a sign. Stiles had a plan. Possibly a shitty plan, but a plan. “Are you sure?” He asked softly, hand habitually coming up to touch Stiles’ face before Kate smacked it away.

“Yes. _Just _break the mate bond, Der.” There wasn’t a hint of a lie in Stiles’ response, and his eye flared. Derek’s eyes closed for a minute as Stiles’ words registered, and then before he could stop himself, he reached for that hidden, magical bond that linked him and Stiles, and tore through it, careful to avoid the fragile emissary bond contained within. He opened his eyes to watch the red drain out of Stiles’ right eye as his mate crumpled, Kate all but throwing him to the floor in her glee.__

__Derek’s roar and Stiles’ cry of pain echoed around the large room, each of them gripping feebly at their chest. Kate stalked towards Derek with a wild look in her eyes. The crescent moon over Derek’s heart faded away, healed into nothing. Stiles began bleeding again from the wound on his shoulder, grasping at it as he tried to breathe. A broken howl went up from the wolves, confused and angry, crying out for the sudden loss of the alpha-mate._ _

__Derek recovered more quickly initially, and then everyone watched with bated breath as his eyes bled an even deeper red, his face contorting with the agony he was experiencing. He shifted completely, backing away slowly on four paws, claws scraping the ground beneath him, hackles raised, moving away from Kate. He snarled and growled with bared teeth, trying to get as close as he could to his pack, away from her. Jackson threw himself bodily between the werejaguar and his alpha, eyes glowing with icy blue ferocity to hide the anguish that the entire pack felt pouring off of Derek. Cora and Isaac stood on either side of Derek, beta-shifted and furious._ _

__Kate’s grin was wide and feral as she stalked towards Derek, and Jackson leapt forward to protect his Alpha. “Cast the spell.” She cried to the elf as she fought off Jackson’s advance. Kepa nodded and his eyes burned silver in the moonlight as he chanted. Stiles knew what the spell was and tried to cry out to stop it but no words came out. The magic rebounded at his wrists again, dragging a pitiful cry from his throat. His chest was still throbbing, lungs barely pulling enough air in. Lino shouted curses in elvish as he thrust a hand out to try to block the spell, but Kepa just smirked and flicked a hand, knocking away the burst of Lino’s power, his own magic supercharged from the black magic and Stiles’ blood._ _

__Kate waited for another nod from the elf and she grins. “Call your wolves off, and change back, Derek.” She waited for the change and then smirked, watching the panic in Derek’s eyes as his body moved without his permission, her smile full of predatory glee. He stepped forward past his betas and held up a hand for them to stand down, flashing his eyes so they couldn’t resist. Kate stepped forward to run a hand through his hair, down his chest, holding him tightly by the hips. Her eyes raked down his naked body. “Y’know, you’ve grown up well. I knew you would. Come here, my love.” Derek said nothing, couldn’t move, his entire being fighting to pull away from Kate but his body ignoring the orders. Everyone was frozen, unsure what to do, how to stop it. Araya couldn’t seem to pick a target, her gun bouncing around the room, but she was grinning gleefully as she watched Kate touch Derek._ _

__Stiles felt it, Derek’s anguish and panic and fear, feebly, through the weak Emissary bond that had survived Derek’s severing. He sat on the ground, chest heaving, head between his knees as he tried to pull himself together. He waited, counted his stuttered, struggling heartbeats, trying to draw magic, jolting at the pain of it being reflected back at him each time, each heartbeat. After five, drawing magic didn’t hurt. Drawing magic felt like reaching up to grab a necklace as a baby. It felt like soft brown hair in his hands. It sounded like a woman’s soft voice in his head, telling him he was loved and beautiful and all the things he’d forgotten. It felt like his mom, and in the next breath suddenly, there was too much magic and he cried out again, his head tipping back as his body overfilled with the magic that had been housed in Derek’s body for so long._ _

__He wanted to get up, to protect Derek, but he couldn’t, not yet. But he heard a snap and looked up, watching Allison fire bolts towards Kate. Allison flicked her eyes briefly to Stiles and nodded. Pride surged as he heard the words that fell from Allison’s lips, “Alpha orders don’t work on humans.” She said, eyes full of years of anger and rage, firing enough bolts to force Kate back away from Derek. “And I won’t let you hurt him again.”_ _

__His father knelt by his side and gently touched Stiles’ shoulder. Blue eyes searched ferociously for the source of Stiles’ pain but found nothing. His touch grounded Stiles, anchored him to the present, and he whipped his head up to look for Derek, and let out a cry of frustration as he saw Kepa begin chanting again, and watched Allison go ghastly white and reach for her throat._ _

__Seconds later, Kepa was thrown across the room, Allison dropped to her knees and took several long breaths, and everyone turned to look at Stiles who lowered his hand slowly, hands still clenched into fists. “Don’t touch my pack.” He snarled at Kepa, chest heaving, “You’re a monster, and if you were a mage, I’d just kill you, but you’re an elf, so you know it’s not going to be that easy.”_ _

__Kate growled low in her chest, staring at Stiles with disgust, “How did you do that? How did you break your cuffs. Derek, come here.”_ _

__“I didn’t break the cuffs, dumbass. And I’m not letting you lay a finger on him.” He was staring at Derek who turned his head to look at Stiles with terrified green eyes even as his body moved towards Kate. Stiles had only ever seen that look of fear in Derek’s eyes once, and it had been when Derek held Stiles a month ago, as he bled out just outside of a cage. “It’s gonna be okay now, Der.” He thrust his hand forward and Derek staggered as Stiles unwound the elf’s spell, wincing for a moment before glaring and growling at Kate and backing away, Cora, Isaac and Jackson placing themselves around the shaking Alpha as a shield. Lupe flicked a hand and a pair of sweat pants appeared on Derek’s form, offering his alpha some amount of dignity._ _

__“What is happening?” Araya called out, her gun fixed on Stiles, but her eyes darting between Stiles, Derek, and the elf that had been helping them, the taser extended out behind her, a half-assed attempt to protect herself from the McCall wolves growling at her back. “How is that possible, you were supposed to cut off his magic. He still has the cuffs on.” She fired a series of shots that Stiles held out a hand to block, the bullets falling harmlessly to the floor. Stiles stepped away from his father, putting himself between Araya and his dad._ _

__“He did.” Stiles smirked, still breathing hard, fighting the pain of containing and acknowledging too much magic. He anchored himself in the internal storm with the blurry image of his mother, the memory of his father’s hand on his shoulder, the burn of his shoulder, a physical reminder that this was real, of what was at stake. He whipped around towards Kepa and stared him down, the elf’s confidence dying a slow death as Stiles’ power grew. “Seventeen years ago, a very powerful prophetic mage died of a human disease she didn’t have to die of.” Somewhere in the room, someone let out a surprised gasp, Stiles was fairly sure it was his father. “She died because she had given up her magic to her son, given him a gift so that when the time came, he could protect himself and the people he loved.”_ _

__Stiles held out his hand and the elf, despite fighting, drew towards him. “That magic, it got bound away when her son mated to a werewolf. Tucked away for safe keeping inside a vessel that could handle the magic. You successfully bound my magic, clever really, using elf magic to reflect it, rather than try to overpower me completely. I know how specific that spell had to be. If I didn’t know elves so well, it might have fooled me. If I didn’t have a seat at the Royal table, it might have fooled me. You successfully bound my magic, the magic that was born in me and belongs only to me,” Stiles held out his wrists and the metal cuffs broke into two pieces and moved from his wrists to the wrists of the elf. “But not hers. And when the mate bond broke, it freed her magic. All the magic of a second Gajos mage.”_ _

__Stiles threw the now magic-less elf towards Lino and Lupe, watching John shift so that his gun was fixed on him, nodding to his father, and giving a feral grin to the elf brothers, “Save him for the cherrywood chairs.” He winked and then turned to Araya. Moving faster than anyone could have predicted, he knocked away the gun, “The prophetic mage? Her name was Claudia Stilinski. She was my mother.” Tears flew out of Stiles eyes as he reached for Araya’s throat. Theo was there in an instant, launching himself forward to tear out the hunter’s throat, meeting Stiles’ eye with a curt nod as the body thudded to the floor._ _

__Behind him, the Hale pack had pinned Kate, and were seconds from killing her when Stiles tore her from their grasp, ignoring her screams as their claws were literally torn through her skin. “I’m not done with her yet.” He said, feeling better as he expended the magic. The wound on his shoulder had started knitting itself back together, and he’d thrown a generalized healing spell towards Scott, draining off bits of the painful excess power where he could._ _

__Derek instinctively whipped around to challenge the person who had prevented him from killing Kate, snarling as he did. Startled, Stiles recoiled for a moment, stepping back and dropping Kate to the ground. Derek caught himself and choked out a sob. He still hadn’t said a word since the bond had been broken. Derek stepped back from Stiles, only for Kate to sink her claws into his shoulder. He let out a roar and turned back to the real enemy, ripping her away from his back as blood flew through the air after her._ _

__Stiles touched Derek’s shoulder softly, the sharp, jagged edges of the broken mate bond raw between them, but the still-there emissary bond singing with the affection. Derek hesitated for a moment, staring at Stiles with angry red eyes. Stiles held up his hand to placate Derek. “Give me just a minute, and then you can kill her, Derek. After everything she’s done, you’ve earned it.”_ _

__Stiles stepped between Derek and Kate, and she righted herself and moved back into a crouch, “Should have known, Stilinski. You never did know when to give up. You better be careful, giving alpha werewolves orders and then turning your back to them. He could kill you.”_ _

__Derek snarled and Stiles laughed, “He couldn’t, actually. Do you actually still think you’ve won somehow? That breaking the mate bond will be the end of me and Derek? That Derek is just going to tear me to pieces and then turn to you for comfort? How fucking deluded are you? Did you think the pack was just going to let you walk out of here, taking Derek for your own? No, Kate. That’s not how this works. You’ve never cared to understand packs or family or love.”_ _

__Allison let out a strangled cry, and Isaac gently tugged her against his chest, a clawed hand carefully stroking against her back. Chris, tears in his eyes, didn’t flinch away when John rested a hand against his shoulder. He’d protected his sister too many times. Stiles was right. It was time to end this, and Derek deserved to do it._ _

__“He’s a feral alpha, Stilinski, what are you going to do, drag him back? He’s not bonded to you. He’s going to kill you.”_ _

__Stiles face grew into a smirk, “Does he look feral to you? Clearly, you’ve never dealt with angsty feral alpha extraordinaire Peter Hale.” Stiles paused for a minute, “Oh wait, he killed you the first time.” Stiles gave a one-sided shrug. “Kate, you’re so unbelievably wrong.” He stepped within inches of her, and Kate tried to lunge and missed, Derek snarling from behind Stiles. “Derek isn’t feral because his entire pack is here, grounding him, holding him, _loving him_ and keeping him from that edge. Now, you have something of mine, and I’d like it back.”_ _

__Kate smirked and shook her head, reached into her pocket and held up the dirty wedding ring. “You mean this old thing?” She tried to crush it in her palm but Stiles let out a very wolfish snarl and used magic to pull it to him, through her hand rather than around it, leaving Kate screaming as he wiped the ring off on his stomach and slipped it onto the appropriate finger of his left hand._ _

__“You seem to be really focused on Derek being my mate, Kate, which, I get. You failed to compete the bond you started by raping a sixteen year old boy, so I can see how that would piss you off, but you seem to forget two important things. I’m also his husband, and more importantly right now, I’m still his emissary, which means I’m still pack.” He watched the realization dawn on her face, “You gambled and lost because you never bothered to understand what being pack meant. You thought It was all about the bond, about the power that came with being bound to a werewolf. You lost, Kate. Derek was NEVER going to be yours, whether I was dead or alive, bound to him or not.”_ _

__Stiles grasped air again and held Kate above the ground, his left hand also grabbing at something as he magically restrained her hands. “Also, my last name isn’t Stilinski anymore. It’s Stilinski-Hale.” He turned to Derek, “Tear her throat out, Der, with your teeth.”_ _

__Derek obliged._ _

__When the alpha was done, Stiles fell to his knees on the floor, shaking with the exertion and exhaustion and the excess of magic, and his pack converged on him. Lydia was there first, pushing the wolves aside like it was nothing, pouring herself into Stiles’ lap, pressing kisses to his face and neck, holding him impossibly tight. Derek let the pack surround him for a moment, his own hands still shaking before he pushed through them. He hesitated for a moment, waited for Stiles to look up with a tired smirk before he surged forward pressing their mouths together, lifting him out of the pile of bodies to pull him against his chest, not caring about the blood still dripping from Derek’s face. The entire pack seemed to breathe a sigh as the first part of their mate bond – the love bond -- snapped back into place effortlessly. “I love you.” Derek finally said, tears in his eyes. “You’re okay, you’re safe now. We both are.”_ _

__More and more people were filtering into the room, and Stiles could hear Lino directing the bloodguard to collect Kepa, still restrained by his own cuffs. The D.C. Alpha took charge immediately despite his grief, sending the wolves from Reno and is remaining beta to run a perimeter check, and the betas from the New York and Kansas City packs to guard the Calaveras soldiers that were still alive. The fae had made their way through, helping to heal those who could be healed. The McCall pack were fawning over Scott, whose strength was returning after the wolfsbane had been dealt with, and thanks to Stiles boost._ _

__Stiles met Derek’s eyes, “She’s gone for good now. She can never hurt us again. I love you. Thank you for trusting me.” Stiles said softly, leaning into Derek’s shoulder._ _

__He looked towards his dad, “I’m sorry.” He said, “I’m sorry that mom died because of me.”_ _

__John shook his head, “I’m not. Not today. Your mother sacrificed herself so that you could do this, so you could save yourself, save Derek, save your pack. She chose to do that, don’t apologize, Stiles. It’s okay, son.”_ _

__Stiles, feeling part of the magic that was paining him bleed through the love-bond to Derek, dragged in a long breath, letting himself rest against Derek, exhausted from the events that had transpired. He turned his head to see Malia help Scott to his feet, assisted by one of the Fae who was helping to speed along his healing process._ _

__Scott looked across the room to Stiles and gave a nod and a smile, “Is it over?” He asked._ _

__Stiles wearily lifted his head from Derek’s shoulder and returned Scott’s smile, “And I didn’t even have to kill anyone.”_ _

__Both of them shared a brief, private laugh. Something had changed, but neither of them were ready to discuss it yet, the pain of seven years not completely wiped away by three days of shared captivity. Derek nuzzled into Stiles’ neck. “Let’s go home.” Stiles said softly, stroking Derek’s black hair absently. “Let’s go put that bond back where it belongs.” Stiles winked._ _

__\--_ _

__When it was all said and done, Stiles actually asks Derek to bite the other shoulder this time and uses his magic to force the healing of the wound on his left side, leaving minimal scarring. He wants a new bite, a fresh scar, one that isn’t on skin that has been tainted by Kate or Kepa. When he carves his mark into Derek, it isn’t a crescent moon, it’s a perfect (thanks magic) complete circle, a full moon, inlaid with a delicate, wispy triskele and when they’re done, they both cry because it’s over. It’s over and they’re together and whole again. And when the bond falls into place, it feels stronger than it used to be, and if Derek thinks really hard, it kind of smells like that new spring rain._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to lie, Araya Calaveras became a scapegoat for me in this story. She's a nifty, really complex character, but I just needed someone capable of gathering enough people for an "army"
> 
> She probably deserved more, but alas, here we are!


	17. Sacramento, Day 18+

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all. 
> 
> One more to go. See you Wednesday!
> 
> Sorry this was a little later than normal, with all the COVID-19 stuff going on, I got a little distracted.

The Beacon Hills Sheriff’s office, and Chris Argent, handle most of the clean-up of the warehouse in the days that follow. Stiles is, conveniently, supposedly still injured from his first kidnapping, so nobody has any reason to wonder why he’s still laid up from his second, more vicious kidnapping. In fact, Stiles has decided that other than Grant, nobody even needs to know about his second kidnapping, or the countless bodies that resulted from it. Argent, in a show of good will, returns Araya Calavera’s body to her family, a sign of respect and a sign of warning. Come back to Beacon Hills, or Sacramento, and this will be the result. 

Stiles and Derek spend the first three days after the showdown curled up together in bed. The first day it was a result of the painful need to repair their broken bond, to put things back to right. The second and third day, the pack suspects, are a combination of Stiles obliging Derek’s protective alpha instincts, and sheer exhaustion. They emerge on the fourth day to eat breakfast with the pack, Stiles having healed most of his injuries, but sporting a spattering of dark bruises along his neck that definitely didn’t come from Kate Argents claws but are suspiciously close to where the puncture wounds might have been. The pack is relatively quiet, none of them really know what to say. That’s been true for the last few days, however, even before their alpha’s emerged. They’ve all been fighting to keep it together for almost a month now. With the threat gone, with the permanent removal of several serious adversaries, the pack is stunned into silence and confused about how to proceed, how to return to normal.

Unsurprisingly, it’s Stiles that breaks the ice. “Derek tells me that we gained a new pack member while I was uh, away.” He sets his coffee cup down and smiles at Allison. The brunette blushes delightfully and bites her bottom lip at Stiles with shining eyes. “Welcome home, Ally. It’s about time. Thank you all for welcoming her to the pack in my absence.”

“Alphas?” The mild tone in the normally chipper accented voice has all of the pack turning to look at Faris with confused expressions. The mage stands and moves to stand near the end of the table where Derek and Stiles are seated. “Alpha, Alpha-mate Emissary.” He bows his head, “I can’t thank you enough for the time I’ve spent here. I truly have made bonds I’ll cherish for life, and friendships I hope to continue. I came to this pack to be an ally and an asset, so long as my services were needed and my presence wanted. I have, in the past month, come across a pack that is in need of an Emissary. It has been the honor of my life to serve the Hale pack, but I formally request that you release me so that I may go where I am needed.” He kneels before the alphas. 

Derek reaches over to touch his throat, surprised at how emotional he feels in the moment. Faris was never close, but he was pack, he was constant, a friend. “Mage, as Alpha, I release you from the bonds of this pack, and wish you good fortune on your journey.” Derek stands to embrace the mage once he’s done, and they all feel the bond slip away. It’s not painful this time. There is a ghost of the bond there, a bright shining light, rather than the painful emptiness of a shattered bond.

Stiles takes another long drink of his coffee and waits for Derek to release Faris, “So, are you taking over for Marian, or joining the full-moon werewolf orgies?” He asks with a smile. 

Faris rolls his eyes, “Marian has told me repeatedly that she’s getting too old for this shit, and she needs a proper replacement. She wants me to tell you thank you for training her replacement so well.” His smile grows a bit sad, “Reno isn’t so far away.” He said softly.

Stiles stands to embrace him, and Faris readily returns the embrace. There are possibly tears in both of their eyes, but nobody will call either of them on it. “I’m going to miss you.” Stiles finally says, “But now, every time the west coast packs need to convene, you get to deal with me AND whoever I choose for the McCall pack.” Stiles waggles his eyebrows and he and Faris both laugh.

Faris packs his things and leaves the next day, wanting to get settled in as soon as possible. It’s Jackson who seems to have the hardest time with him being gone, as he’s the one who knew Faris the longest, if not always very well. Stiles promises the beta they’ll visit, and if Jackson spends the next hour curled up in Stiles’ arms in the library reminiscing about Faris and the pack in London, well, that’s their secret.

\--

Late one night, a week and a half after Kate Argent’s death, Derek looks up from the book he’s reading and studies Stiles’ face, “Do you think your mother knew the details of the situation?” He asks suddenly.

Stiles, who was reading a book of his own, closes it, and sets it aside, turning to face his mate, “I have no idea what my mother knew.” He said softly, hand coming up to reflexively lay over his heart. They’ve talked about it, and the mate bond doesn’t smell like rain to Stiles – it doesn’t smell like anything, but the magic that runs through it sings to Stiles, and it sounds an awful lot like his mother. “I have to assume that she knew enough about the situation that she’d know I’d be safe. Like, if she had just dumped all of her magic into me, locked it away behind some kind of complicated keying system, and then went ahead and died – it would have been pretty irresponsible if she didn’t know I was going to get werewolf married to an alpha who could handle the excess magic for me.”

Derek considers this for a moment, “The magic in me, can you still reach it? Could you use it, if you needed it?” 

Stiles licks his lips and then replies, “If I really needed to, probably. If I was bound like I was, I’m not sure. Magic is fickle. The flavor of magic that each person has is unique. That’s why, now that we know it’s there, that magic feels different. My magic probably has its own scent to you. To me, it sounds like … like how a stupid high school dance, kind of a dull pulse of a beat.”

Derek thinks for a long time, and Stiles watches his nostrils flare even though what he’s scenting isn’t outside of them, it’s deeply embedded into each of them. “Your mom’s magic smells like rain. Your magic smells like the preserve at night.”

Stiles blushes and Derek’s eyebrows draw together. Stiles leans over to kiss him, “You’re really a ridiculously romantic werewolf, did you know that?” Derek kisses him back but doesn’t reply, “That’s where we met, Der. In the preserve, at night. The first thing you said to me was something to the tune of ‘this is private property’.”

Derek blushes this time and tucks his face into Stiles’ neck, bites softly at the new, still-tender mate bite with human teeth. “I did say I’ve always been drawn to you.” 

Stiles ran his hands through Derek’s hair, kissing the top of his head, “And I you, Sourwolf.”

\--

The emissary that Stiles ends up choosing for the McCall pack is a young spark witch who grew up in one of the wolf packs that they associated with in New York. Stiles met her during one of their trips to the supernatural club. She’s a spitfire, with a sharp tongue, and a fierce temper, but she’s powerful and loyal and Stiles thinks that maybe if you squint she seems a bit like him (or that’s what Lydia says, at least). He figures that if anyone could survive in a pack with Theo Raeken, it’s going to be someone who can hold her own in an argument. Stiles might have overshot that one. He was fairly certain that if Theo didn’t watch his mouth, Gianna would put him in the dirt faster than he could smirk.

Gianna is around the same height as Lydia, with soft, caramel colored skin and a wave of beautiful tight brown curls that Stiles has always admired from a distance. They cascade around her face in a truly delightful manner, but most often they’re pushed back from her face by a delicately elaborate headband. She moves from New York two weeks later, and she doesn’t bring much with her, but takes up residence in the downtown apartment formerly belonging to Peter Hale, and the next day, she and Stiles meet with Scott and Malia.

The diner is busy when they get there, bustling with people, but even still, the waitress – the same woman who’s worked there since Stiles was a kid – rushes over to give him a hug. Stiles hugs her back, introduces Gianna as a friend of his who just moved to town, and asks for the corner booth. Stiles tells her that Scott and Malia are joining them, and she just smiles. 

Scott and Malia show up just as Stiles is tucking himself into the booth – he’s on the inside, giving Gianna room to bolt if she absolutely hates this pack, but Stiles has a pretty good feeling about this. 

“Hey, man.” Scott says as they sit down. Malia doesn’t say anything, just gives Stiles a tight-lipped smile. “Is everything good now with you and Derek?”

Stiles smile, tugging down the collar of his T-shirt to give Scott a quick glimpse of the new mate-bite. “I told Derek I was upset I didn’t get both eyes since now I’ve had to do the damn thing twice.”

“It doesn’t hurt that bad, you’re a baby.” Malia finally says, smiling up at Stiles shyly. “Thank you.” She reaches over to touch Stiles’ hand. “Thank you for not letting them kill him.” Her eyes are bright for a minute, and then she pulls her hand away and blinks the emotions away.

Stiles nods, and then turns to Gianna, “So, sorry about our brief foray into emotions.”

Gianna snorts, “Pretty sure getting kidnapped and tortured warrants emotions.” She looks at Scott, “So you’re Alpha McCall?” 

Scott looks at Stiles for a moment and then back to Gianna, “Yeah, but you can just call me Scott, please. I’m not fifty.” 

Gianna nods and then turns to Malia, “Which makes you Malia Tate. Is it true that you defeated the Desert Wolf?” She grins widely, “I met Braeden a few times, she told me stories. Is it true that you lived as an actual coyote for a long time?”

Stiles sits back as Malia and Gianna chat, looking at Scott with a content look on his face. It occurs to him that it’s probably odd for them to be discussing the supernatural in such a public setting, but it’s Beacon Hills, and at this point, people would have to be blind not to see the amount of supernatural bullshit that goes on here. They eat and Stiles goes over some of the unique aspects of Beacon Hills – the Nemeton, the Sheriff being his father and their resident Sheriff’s Deputy Hellhound. Scott and Malia discuss the pressing danger from Monroe’s hunters, they talk about the fight for Beacon Hills and how the hunters show up every now and then.

When they’re done, and they go outside, Stiles throws up a sight-shield and Gianna submits to the McCall pack on the spot, conspiring with Malia about the best way to kick some hunter ass. The two young women wander towards Scott’s car and Scott lingers near Stiles for a moment. Stiles looks at him, “We’re not that far away, y’know. If something happens and you need some help.”

Scott nods, “If the Hales want to come home, I won’t fight them.” He said, “Beacon Hills is their land, if they want to be home, I’m sure we can find a way to coexist.”

“Dude, there are eleven packs in New York City.” Stiles grins, “I’m sure we could find a way. But for now, I think 48.7 miles is exactly the correct distance. Besides – I’m still an FBI agent. I go back to work in like, two weeks, it’s a bit of a long commute from here.” 

Scott gives a half smile, “I really am sorry, Stiles.”

Stiles leans over to give the alpha a hug, “I know.” He says finally, “Take good care of Gianna, okay? She’s got what it takes to be a way better emissary for you than Deaton ever was, but you have to treat her right. And remember that she’s not just some random emissary, she grew up in a wolf pack. She knows how they’re supposed to run.” Stiles claps Scott on the shoulder, “Listen to her.” He says, giving a final nod before waving to Malia and Gianna and climbing into his car. 

\--

Lupe had never been in the Queen’s study when the cherry wood chairs were being used until three and a half weeks after the warehouse. Now, sitting in a cherry wood chair in the center of the office, dressed in the same dingy clothing he’d been wearing in California, was Kepa. He looked tired, resigned to his fate, the dark steel color of his eyes glinting in the soft lighting of the room. 

Lupe stood beside his brother, uncle and mother, and gave evidence for Kepa’s crimes. He recounted the agony of his alpha during Stile’s first disappearance, the foiled attempt at transferring the alpha-mate bond, Kepa collaborating with known dangers to supernatural creatures. He discusses Kepa throwing Stiles’ protection spells back at Peter, and how the result was a sacrificed bloodguard. He described the spell that Kepa had used to make Derek bend to Kate Argent’s will. He described the bindings that had kept Stiles’ magic locked away – Elf-made cuffs that still sat on Kepa’s wrists, adjusted so they trapped his own magic by the only mage alive that knew elvish magic well enough to do so, in a fraction of a second. 

Lupe had been particularly impressed by Stiles’ understanding of the magic that made up his bindings, how he had figured out that it was attuned to his magical signature. The fact that with just intention, without words or tools, Stiles had turned Kepa’s weapons into his own prison was astounding, and spoke to the strength of Stiles in that moment – the strength of Stiles Stilinski-Hale when he held both his power, and his mothers in the same vessel. 

Kepa said nothing in his own defense. He knew that he was going to be convicted. He knew that even if Lupe hadn’t been around, even if the elves hadn’t come when the Hale pack asked for help, he would have been convicted on Stiles’ word alone. Lupe had never been prouder to be a member of the Hale pack. He and Peter had been having a number of discussions lately, and some of them – particularly discussing the potential implications of a child born of a werewolf and an elf – he intended to discuss with his mother before he returned to California. 

“As the Queen of the Elves, I hereby condemn you to death for your crimes. You have tainted the Saburo family name, you deliberately endangered the lives of elves, humans, werewolves and a number of others. Most directly, you used an ancient and outlawed ritual to attempt to break a sacred bond between an alpha werewolf and his mate. For these crimes, you are sentenced to die.”

Kepa didn’t look up, just kept his eyes glued to the floor in front of the chair. He didn’t look up when the four elves in front of him moved out of his line of sight, when the door to the office opened. He did look up when he sensed a different kind of magical signature enter the room. When he turned around his eyes widened and he drew in a long breath.

Stiles Stilinski-Hale’s eyes glittered dangerously as he stood in the office of the Queen of the Elves. In his hands, he twirled a dagger, a knife like nothing Kepa had ever seen before. “I’m sure you knew deep down that working with Kate Argent was a mistake.” He said, his voice confident, sure. “I remember you from before, Kepa. Now that I’m not in an extremely traumatic situation, and now that you’re here, not glamoured to look like something you’re not. You’re not that much older than I am, really.

“Maricella and Lupe begged me for forgiveness, begged me not to hold them accountable for your crimes. I told them over and over that I’d never do that, that Lupe is practically family. But Maricella asked me if there was anything she could do to make this right, to bring justice to the situation. It must me some kind of elf thing, this misplaced guilt. Or perhaps not, I can think of a wolf and a human who both regularly misplace their guilt. Anyway.

When I told her that I wanted to be the one to execute you, she didn’t even hesitate. I think the only person who wanted to fight me for it was Lino, but he passed his right for vengeance for the death of a bloodguard to me.” Stiles leaned back against the desk, looking past Kepa, over his head, “Do you want to know what this knife is made of?” Stiles held it up in the light so that Kepa could see it. It was thin, off-white, protruding from a handle wrapped in leather. Stiles leaned close and pressed the blade against Kepa’s throat, “I made this knife from Kate Argent’s femur. I usually ask Chris or Allison when I want to make a new weapon, but understandably, I had to ask someone else to help with this one.” He spoke directly into the elf’s ear, lips twisted into a smile. Kepa didn’t speak or resist. He’d lost when he’d joined with them. He knew the it didn’t matter. Without his own magic to protect him (or perhaps even with) Stiles could blast him into a hundred pieces and he would be powerless to stop him. “I made it so your death would be the last death Kate Argent would ever cause.”

Stiles sank the knife into Kepa’s throat, and then released it, leaving the knife imbedded there, watching the life gurgle out of his body, watching the blood run onto the cherry wood chair. Once he was sure the life was gone from Kepa, he waved a hand to open the study door, looking at Lupe with cold, dark, dangerous eyes, “It’s done.” 

Lupe nodded, bowing his head to his alpha-mate. “Come, I’ll help you wash up and we’ll see if we can get my mother to tell us something about elves that even Peter doesn’t know… yet.” 

\--  
Detective Lewis looked up from his desk and sighed deeply. “You look better than the last time I saw you. I’m surprised it’s you and not Whittemore again.”

Stiles – Agent Stilinski-Hale dropped into the seat next to his desk. “I feel a lot better. Also, Jackson is nothing if not a professional when he’s working.”

“I don’t have any more information on your case, if that’s what you’re here about.”

The young man fidgeted with the band on his left hand for a moment before he turned to look at the detective. “You can close the case.” He said softly, his brown eyes sure, face a relaxed mask, body neutral. Detective Lewis wasn’t afraid of very many people after twenty years in law enforcement, but something about the confidence, the posture in this young man’s body had him on edge. He felt like a predator, like something dangerous.

“You know I can’t just close the case on your word alone, Stilinski.”

“Stilinski-Hale.” The correction came out tired, like he had to make it all the time, “And I’m not asking you to.” Stiles handed a file folder to the detective. “This is the final incident report for an occurrence down in Beacon Hills, it’s about fifty miles away. It got messy, but the Sheriff’s office down there was able to extract a confession from some of the guys they rounded up. Apparently, in the scuffle, the person who actually shot me was killed. Beacon Hills is going to handle the rest of it though, seeing as it happened on their turf.”

Frank Lewis sat back, fingers clutching the file. “I’ll have to call down and talk to the Sheriff to get confirmation that this is all on the up-and-up.”

The predator slipped away and a warm smile replaced the façade. “Oh, please do.” The young man stood up and reached out to shake Detective Lewis’ hand. “Thanks for your work on the case. I’ll be sure to mention your name the next time we need to tag-team on something.” He gave a quick nod and walked away.

Detective Lewis sat down to look at the case file, read through the summaries of some kind of massive brawl that ended with a shoot-out at a warehouse in Beacon Hills. Several people admitted to being a part of the plot to kidnap Stiles. There was a signed affidavit stating that the trigger-man for Stiles’ shooting was dead, caught through the gut by a bullet and bled to death. It almost sounded too poetic. Frank lifted the phone off the receiver to dial the number of the sheriff’s station to confirm that this was real but stopped when he read the name of the Sheriff. Sheriff Noah John Stilinski.

Stilinski.

Frank set the phone down and sat back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. There was no point in calling. He didn’t need to be a genius to realize that Agent Stilinski-Hale had to have gotten those predatory instincts, the quick wit, the investigative edge that got him through the academy and got him his choice of assignment locations in the Bureau, from somewhere – someone. And Frank didn’t need to call to know that this Sheriff was going to back up his son’s word, hell, the whole station probably would.

Instead, he stepped into his supervisor’s office, handed him the file, told him they could close the Stilinski-Hale kidnapping and attempted murder case, and decided he’d take the rest of the day off. His work on this case was done. 

\--

Stiles’ first day back to work after his kidnapping(s) goes about as well as anyone could have expected it to. His bosses ask how he’s doing, and how much he’s up to. He feeds them a lie that he’s doing okay, but he’s still got some weakness in his left side and sometimes his stomach gets a bit tender. They nod, they’ve been shot before, they get it. He wanders from the boss’ office to his own, surprised to see that the door is closed. He tries the handle, and its locked, but more than that it feels like it’s warded. 

Panic grows in his gut – this was supposed to be over. Why would someone have warded his office door? Who could have done that? Why would someone want to hurt Grant of all people? Without thinking about it, Stiles goes for the door handle again and snaps the wards, stepping silently into the room, blinking twice. 

On the floor of _his_ office, is Cora Hale, still half-dressed in her EMT’s uniform from her shift the night prior, and between her legs is a very enthusiastic Grant, who apparently is so invested in what he’s doing, he doesn’t hear the office door open, or hear Stiles step in. Cora does, and half-lidded eyes look up at him, raising one Hale eyebrow in such a fucking Hale way that Stiles has to stifle a laugh in his hand. He turns around, closes the door and replaces the wards, adds something that will keep Cora from getting out until he gets back, and goes out for coffee. 

When he returns, he brings three coffees, and a bagel for Cora. He snaps his own wards and walks into the room with a smile. Stiles flicks his eyes to the office door handle and laughs, looking at the wooden door-hanger that he’d made a number of – for each of the Hale complex rooms. They activated automatically to sound and scent ward, and lock doors. The office smells faintly of sex, but Stiles would guess his opinion of that would be different if he was a werewolf. He closes the door behind him and throws the now dressed but very sulky Cora her bagel. She catches it and aggressively bites into it, refusing to meet his eyes. 

Grant is sitting at his computer absolutely looking anywhere but Stiles. His face is still a bit flushed, and he’s clearly made an attempt to fix his hair but it didn’t go well. 

“So.” Stiles said, sitting down at his desk, “How often have you been using the rune placards that I made to fuck my partner in my office?” He leaned forward, “And why didn’t you tell me?”

Cora took another spiteful bite of the bagel. “Are you going to tell Derek?”

Stiles chuckles, “That’s not an answer to my question.” 

Cora finally looks at him, then looks at Grant, who shrugs at her. She growls and he rotates his chair so he’s facing Stiles. He grabs the coffee and holds it in his hands like it’s going to somehow protect him. Cora finishes her bagel before talking. “When you were kidnapped the first time, I came to see if Grant knew anything about it. I got really upset. He hugged me and it felt…right.” 

Stiles cocked his head to the side, “Right, right?” He asked. Grant looked confused. Stiles flicked his eyes to him and then back to Cora, “Cora, you’ve been fucking him for like eight weeks and you haven’t told him?”

Cora blushed violently, “It’s not like it’s been an easy eight weeks.” She mumbled, “I didn’t want to tell him and then up and die.”

Grant drew in a long breath, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index fingers. “Cora.” He said softly, in a very soothing tone of voice. Stiles grinned. He knew that tone. That was one of Grant’s investigator tones. “What does S-H somehow know fifteen minutes after finding out about us that you haven’t bothered to tell me?”

Cora glared at Stiles, “You’re a bastard.”

Stiles shrugged, “Yes, but also I’m your brother.” 

“Brother-in-law.” 

“I can call your brother and ask for his opinion on the situation. I’m sure he’d love to tell you about waiting to tell his m—”

“STOP.” Cora said, turning to Grant. “I think you might be my mate. It’s pretty rare.” She said quickly. Her glare returned to Stiles, “I wasn’t gonna tell you because we haven’t really had a lot of time to actually date, but this asshole has apparently decided I need to.” Stiles didn’t say anything, just sipped from his coffee and reached down to turn on his computer.

Grant looked from Stiles to Cora, his face transforming into a smile. He stood up to take the chair next to hers. “So like, does that mean you actually like me?”

Cora’s eyes widened briefly, and she looked at Stiles. Stiles very deliberately did not look back. She turned back to Grant, and nodded, her bottom lip between her teeth. Grant’s smile hadn’t faltered, and he leaned down to press his lips to hers softly. Cora let him, sinking into the contact, the fear of rejection and anger at Stiles fading away. After a moment they broke apart, Grant’s hand still cupping Cora’s cheek. 

“So, can I ask you on an actual date now?” Grant said softly, “Not just a ‘hey I had a bad day at work can I fuck you in your office’ date?”

Cora’s eyes were bright, and she nodded, resting her forehead against Grants. They stayed there for a moment before Grant kissed her forehead. Cora sighed happily, “I’ll text you my shifts for the week.” She said, a smile still plastered on her lips. “You’re paying.”

Grant just nodded and leaned in to kiss her again before moving back to his desk. 

Cora turned her gaze on her brother-in-law, “Stiles.”

“Yes, dearest sister?” He asked, words dripping with false innocence, swiveling around his computer screen to look at her.

“You knew.” She accused.

Stiles blinked a few times, and then smirked, “I guessed. Educatedly. The day I brought Grant back to the house. You don’t usually warm up to strangers so quickly.” 

“Are you going to tell Derek?”

Stiles can’t help but laugh at the way the color drains out of Grant’s face at Derek’s name. Grant knows Derek as Stiles’ husband, but it has clearly just occurred to him that that makes him Cora’s brother. “No, Cora, I’m not going to tell Derek. But I suggest that you do because if Peter finds out one more thing about this pack before Derek does, he might explode. Peter is suitably distracted right now, so you probably have two weeks.” Stiles absolutely does laugh at how Grant’s face turns from white to green.


	18. Sacramento, Day 1210

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a brief glimpse forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> h o l y c r a p
> 
> I did it, y'all. It's done. 
> 
> Something that is important to me is that trauma is not a one-time thing, which is something that Teen Wolf tried to get across but failed. I've seen it done way better than I did it in other fics, but I took a stab at it. 
> 
> Thank you for all the love and all the support through this story. Those of you that were here through the original version 4 fiasco deserve my undying thanks for sticking through this. I didn't know what I was writing that early on. 
> 
> I've got some ideas dancing around for other things I could write in this verse. I've mentioned a few in the comments. I'll link them to this work as a series if I end up adding any other works in this verse. 
> 
> Enjoy this little slice of (mostly) happiness. Much love to you all, stay safe and stay healthy!

Waking with a start, Stiles’ first thought – even after nearly three years – is that he’s once again been kidnapped, and it immediately puts him on edge. It’s not as bad as it was years ago, when he’d wake up and immediately swing at the next person to touch him – which was usually Derek. It’s gotten better over the years, but he’s not sure that he’s ever going to be completely better. He has to decide to deal with the terrifying nightmares of his possession, the image of Donovan Donati’s face, the look on Kate Argent’s face when she sank her face into his mate-mark or deal with waking harshly from a magically induced sleep.

He’d tried to former for a week, but after a week of hardly sleeping, and smelling nothing but panic and misery from his mate, Derek had begged him to go back to the dreamless sleep runes. Stiles agreed. Most days, it’s not bad. But right now it’s bad because Stiles didn’t wake up in his bed with his mate’s werewolf-hot arms wrapped around his chest. He’s on some kind of cold, hard floor and he doesn’t know where he is. His eyes fly open and he sits up, dragging in a quick breath at the way a muscle in his back pulls as he does it.

Looking around he sees rubble. There’s light filtering in from somewhere, but generally, all Stiles can see is grey walls and rubble and a few splashes of blood.

“Oh thank god.” Stiles turns rapidly at the sound and locks eyes with Grant, whose suit is scuffed, torn and dirty. Grant doesn’t elaborate on his thankfulness to the deity, just wraps his arms around Stiles’ shoulders and hugs him briefly. With a quick – and seared into his fucking memory – glance at his wrists to make sure that no, he’s not been magically bound, he reaches his hand out to touch Grant’s forehead and quickly insure that nothing life-threatening has happened to his partner.

“What happened?” He asked, surprised at the gruffness of his own voice.

Grant leans back, dragging in a deep breath. “What’s the last thing you remember?” He asks, fiddling with a torn button on his sleeve.

Stiles closes his eyes and searches his memory, “We were meeting with the contact – the guy who said he knew who the unsub was. We walked into the building and then –”

“S-H, I don’t think we met with a contact. I think the fucking killer was here, and he wanted to try to kill us to throw the FBI off of his tail. The building just collapsed on us as we got into it. Something hit your head on the way down and knocked you out, but I used the uh.” Grant holds up the metal disc that Stiles had engraved a generalized protection rune into, “I just kind of set it in between us and hoped. And I guess it worked because the ceiling didn’t fall on us.” He then sets his crushed cell phone next to it, “I would have called for help but…”

Stiles reached for his own, staring at the cracked screen and willing it to turn on. It didn’t. Stiles nodded, “You probably saved our lives using the rune.” He swallowed again, his throat feeling exceptionally dry. “How long was I out?”

“I fell asleep myself at some point. I think it’s about sunset, and we got here at 10am so – maybe eight hours?” Grant was rubbing at a gash on his arm, “How much trouble are we going to be in?”

“With headquarters or with the pack?” Stiles asked with a distinct tone of amusement. “The bosses can only be so mad. We didn’t know we were going for the killer, we thought we were just interviewing a witness.”

“Interviewing a witness in an abandoned house on the outskirts of town.” Grant said, burying his face in his hands, “This was not our finest moment.”

“To be fair, a lot of things happen in abandoned houses.” Stiles offered, “You’d be surprised.”

“I think if I get any more surprises, I’m going to have a heart attack.”

Stiles patted his shoulder, “Let’s get ourselves out of this before this bastard figures out we survived – or how.”

“How are we going to get ourselves out of here without phones?”

Stiles smirked, held up his left hand, and extended his right to Grant. “Hold on tight.” He grinned and for the second time, activated his teleportation rune.

When they landed on the floor of Derek and Stiles’ bedroom with a decidedly loud thump, Grant was suddenly and violently ill, and Stiles couldn’t really blame him. Stiles, however, was wiped out from teleporting two adult humans and barely conscious as the pack slammed into the room. He was vaguely aware of Derek undressing him and tucking him into bed, but then he was out.

Blessedly, magical exhaustion did not lend itself to dreaming, so when Stiles woke up it was the kind of normal, gradual wakeup that wasn’t immediately terrifying. And he was warm and surrounded by Derek but also his hand was pressed against a firm pregnant stomach and he immediately sighed, sinking into the feeling of pack around him.

When he was more conscious, he sat up, smiling at Cora, who had Grant tucked against her back, and then pressed a kiss to Derek’s lips, waking the alpha from his nap. “Sorry for uh… popping in without explanation.”

Derek just growled and tightened his arms around Stiles, who carded a hand into his hair and left it there. “Did you deal with headquarters?” He asked Grant, yawning.

“I mean, someone had to if you were going to sleep for twelve hours.” Grant propped himself up on an elbow. “I called and said that the house collapsed just before we walked in, and that some debris had hit us, so we were taking the rest of the day off to rest. They sent out a team to investigate the site. Isaac and Jackson were kind enough to help make sure that the little area where we definitely were not crushed by rubble looks like we could have been.”

Stiles nodded, “Thanks, man. I lucked out with partners. You’re welcome, Cora.” He made a face at Cora.

Cora snickered, but gave Stiles a serious smile, “Thanks for getting him out of there.”

Stiles nodded, bringing his hand back to the swell of her stomach, “Please, even if leaving my brother-in-law behind was in my nature, doing it when you’re doing me the biggest imaginable favor wasn’t going to happen.”

Cora nodded, “You should keep doing the sucking up bit, Stiles, considering I’m going to be calling in favors for the rest of my life.”

“Worth it.” Derek grumbled, pressing his hand over Stiles’ on his sisters’ belly. The baby kicked happily sensing the contact from their alpha. Stiles’ heart fluttered.

It took Derek every bit of the two years after the kidnappings to convince Stiles that it was time for them to have a child. Most of Stiles’ hesitation centered on his issues with sleep – his tendency to wake up violently, or not sleep at all. Derek reminded him that babies had two parents, and that he would never let Stiles hurt the child, or even scare the child. When Stiles’ panicked wakeups dropped down to once a week, Stiles finally agreed.

Then began the harder question – how. Stiles was firmly set on the child being Derek’s biologically. He wanted their baby to be a werewolf – to be safer than he was. Even if he’d never wanted to be a werewolf, it wasn’t even a question that a werewolf child would be safer than a human one. Plus, their child would naturally be the alpha-heir, so it was really only logical for them to have a werewolf child. Derek, however, couldn’t stop thinking about a child with Stiles’ honey-brown eyes and soft, mole-dotted skin and was also firm in that regard.

What surprised everyone, however, was that non-supernatural, perfectly human Grant was the one who came up with the solution.

Dinners at the Hale house were much more complicated affairs than they used to be. The result of the discussion Lupe had with his mother was that, thanks to a lot of elf magic that Stiles was the only one who cared about, elves of any gender or sex could conceive and carry children. So, Lupe and Peter now bracketed a delightful 18-month old little boy, who was as likely to bare tiny fangs as he was to accidentally magic his food into nothingness. They’d expected an elf-child or a werewolf-child, but because nothing about this pack seemed to be normal, they of course got the statistical anomaly, a werewolf-elf.

It was at one of these dinners, with Stiles and Derek bickering about who should be the biological parent of the child, Peter grinning smugly as he fed his tiny monster, and a very grumpy pregnant Lydia glaring at the alphas, Grant cleared his throat and said, “Isn’t Cora Derek’s biological sister? Couldn’t Stiles and Cora have a kid and it basically be the same gene pool as if it was Stiles and Derek’s kid?”

“Of course Cora is Derek’s sister are you—” Stiles caught himself halfway through and froze. He turned to Cora and then to Derek and back. The want in his eyes was palpable to everyone at the table. His own child, with the Hale wolf bloodline running proudly through their veins. He turned slowly back to Cora, “Would you… do that for us?” There was a vulnerability and hope in the mage that had been rarely seen in the last two years.

Cora blinked, surprised. She turned to Grant, and then back to her brother and brother-in-law. “I mean, we should probably all talk about it but it’s a valid point.”

And so, two months later, a month after Jackson and Lydia’s daughter Arianna was brought into the world, Cora had been artificially knocked up by Stiles’ sperm. Most of the negotiation had been about that part of the process, but despite years of essentially everyone else having shared beds, because Derek and Cora were siblings, Stiles and Cora never had, and so when it came down to it, they decided to go the very human and very scientific way of having a child. It had taken immediately, much to the surprise of the fertility clinic, but not to the pack.

That had been almost eight months ago. Werewolf pregnancies tended to gestate just slightly shorter than human pregnancies and given the size and suspected gestational development of the baby, Cora was essentially due any day. Derek had become very protective of his sister and his child as she got closer to the due date and Cora – and Grant by extension – had obliged the alpha.

Selene Claudia Hale – Hale only, Stiles insisted – joined the pack just a week after the “collapse” incident. Literally hours before she was born, Stiles and Grant had finally arrested the accused serial killer, dumped him back at the office with a veritable mountain of evidence, and claimed a family emergency. Stiles had made it back to the den ten minutes before the werewolf midwife had held out a tiny crying bundle of werewolf child to Derek.

Stiles was mesmerized as he watched as Derek – shirtless, as instructed by the midwife – clutched their tiny daughter to his chest like she was the most precious thing in the world, and rumbled deep in his chest, the baby’s cries quieting quickly as she curled her entire body into his chest. Tears pricked at the back of Stiles’ eyes and when he glanced down at Cora, she was openly crying. Instead of disrupting the baby’s much needed bonding with her alpha and father, Stiles knelt next Cora on the bed and kissed her forehead. “Thank you.” He whispered, “You did good, Cor.”

“I’m just glad she’s your problem now, and I get to be the cool aunt.” Cora said with a wink, wiping away her tears. Stiles, however, glanced up at Grant in the doorway and the way he too was entranced with the alpha and his daughter told him that maybe Cora wasn’t just going to be a cool aunt for long. He looked back up at his husband and smiled widely.

“Is she everything you wanted, Der?” He asked softly.

Derek’s eyes – for the first time – lifted off of Selene’s tiny face and met Stiles’, burning alpha-red as he nuzzled against her tiny head and whispered, “She’s perfect.”

After Cora had been cleaned up, and Selene had been fed, Grant helped her to their bedroom and left the little family alone for a while. Stiles had been hesitant to take the tiny, now dressed baby from Cora after she’d eaten, but had dutifully burped her as he’d read in the thirty-five parenting books he’d read in the last eight months, and then cradled her against his arm as he settled back against their headboard, still hesitant to really look at her, afraid she was going to disappear once he did.

Derek had taken the worlds quickest shower – having been with his sister for the entire fourteen-hour labor while her husband and Stiles were out saving the world – and slid into sweatpants before climbing into the bed next to Stiles and Selene. Stiles looked over to him and offered the baby, but Derek shook his head, reaching up to let one of her tiny fists fail to wrap all the way around his finger. “She smells like you.”

Stiles snorted, “Yeah right, as if anything of mine made it through the strength of those Hale genes.” He finally looked down to study his daughter’s little wrinkled face a bit closer, and shrugged, “I don’t think we’ll really be able to tell who she looks like until she’s not all red and wrinkly. She looks like she’s scowling in her sleep though, so I think it’s safe to assume that the Hale genes are present.”

“Well that and she gestated inside Cora for eight months.” Derek said with a soft smile. “Are you okay?”

Stiles took a long breath, still studying the wrinkles of her face, “Yeah, yeah. It’s just been a long day. I catch the fuck—fricking serial killer that I’ve been chasing for three months, that almost got me and Grant killed, and I almost missed her birth and I just feel like that means I already have a lot to make up for and she’s not even a day old.” Tears were hot in Stiles eyes, unexpectedly, “And I just….worry. Already. I’m worried about her future. I’m worried about what happens if something happens to one or both of us because both of us know how much it sucks to lose your family and I just don’t want that for her. I’m scared for her, Derek.”

Derek shifted so he could pull both Stiles and the baby up against him, nuzzling against Stiles’ neck. “She’s got a whole pack, Stiles.” He whispered. “She’s got a wonderful aunt who loved her enough to bring her into the world, and that aunt’s very human but very capable husband. She’s got a pair of the world’s most ruthlessly protective great-uncles in the world, despite their apparent soft side for small children. She’s got a dangerous and protective banshee and her banshee’s werewolf-kanima husband. She has a sensitive and kind and loving and protective werewolf, and that werewolf’s badass hunter wife. She has cousins that are elf-wolves and werewolves and I’m sure there are more cousins to come.”

Derek kissed Stiles’ cheek. “She has an alpha werewolf for a dad, and her daddy is strong enough that he can even make the alpha feel safe. And that’s just the family in this house. She’s the safest baby in the entire world. But, really, Stiles, do you know what would happen if something happened to us? She’d live. She’d thrive. She’d grow and she’d be wonderful and cunning and inquisitive, because she’s your daughter.”

“She’s your daughter too.” Stiles countered, pulling the baby closer and breathing her in, finally relaxing for the first time since she’d been placed into his arms. “She’s a werewolf.”

“That’s not what I mean. Yes, I’m her dad, but she’s yours, Stiles. She smells like you, and that means she’s strong enough to survive anything life throws at her, just like her daddy did. I can teach her to be the future Alpha that she is, but you can’t teach tenacity and spirit and heart. Those are the gifts you gave her.”

Stiles turned to meet Derek’s lips in a gentle, needy kiss. Derek held him and gave him the reassurance he so clearly needed. “I love you.” Stiles murmured.

“I love you.” Derek murmured, smiling at his mate. He reached down to tuck a finger under Selene’s chin and tilt her head back, pressing a finger to her tiny neck and whispering, “Welcome to the pack, princess.”

And there it was. Stiles felt it snap into place, that glistening white pack-bond, the bond to his daughter. And Stiles felt the tears return to his eyes as he felt the tendrils of the magic within Derek reach out to caress along that pack bond, as the magic of Claudia Stilinski greeted her granddaughter.

“Man, Dad is gonna be so pissed that mom got to meet her before he did.” Stiles buried his face in Derek’s shoulder and just breathed.

(John was not pissed that Claudia got to ‘meet’ Selene before he did. If that piece of news made him bury his face into the baby’s little tuft of black Hale hair and cry, nobody said anything. Just like nobody said anything when Selene’s recently-darkened honey-brown eyes opened and her little hand batted up to rest against John’s chin, and his eyes widened. And nobody said anything when the scent of magic in the room grew and for the first time in twenty years, through her granddaughter, Claudia greeted her husband with a loving whisper and a magical caress.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> image is my haphazard photoshop job for the hale pack!
> 
> I've mentioned that Grant is based on Grant Gustin, so he's in there with Cora.
> 
> I'd cast Faris as Marwan Kenzari and Lupe as Ben Barnes, but like, he's gotta have ethereally light blue eyes because ~elves~


End file.
